Falcon in the Dive
by Citizen Chauvelin
Summary: Musical fic. Chauvelin has fallen prey to insanity after the pressure of the Committee becomes too much for him. ChauvelinMarguerite, and later PercyMarguerite. Now complete! Please, please review! Good, bad, I don't care! Tell me what you think.
1. Into the Fire

**Welcome all. This is another Scarlet Pimpernel fic. Never saw that coming, did you? Anyway, I'm having this take place after Marguerite arrives in Paris to save Armand. And yes, this is based on the musical, which I personally like better. Deal with it. It should be noted that this will be heavily Chauvelin/Marguerite. If you don't like that sort of thing, I invite you to read anyway, for I plan on having Percy show up and save the day, blah blah blah. And please review. I really do need the feedback.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. So's my life.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 1: Into the Fire**

In the heart of Paris there is a café that stands as a sort of military hangout. Around the clock the café is filled with often drunk soldiers and the women who entertained them, so to speak. At that moment, a stunning woman was sitting on the lap of one soldier as her head rested on the chest of another, the three of them seemingly slightly, if not very drunk.

"But you are lying to me!" the young woman exclaimed as she playfully hit the chest of one of the soldiers. This man happened to be none other then Citizen Coupeau, one of the trusted confidents of the Agent Chauvelin.

"No! We captured the boy last week." Coupeau retorted as he pulled the girl back against him. "He is a member of the league of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"And he is here?" the woman asked in disbelief.

"We interrogate him here secretly so the Pimpernel can't find him." The other soldier, Mercier, Chauvelin's other confident, responded.

The woman, sporting a wig and stage make-up, was, of course, none other then Marguerite St. Just, star of the stage and, at this moment, completely unrecognizable. She had even convinced herself that not even Chauvelin himself could see through her disguise. She doubted, though, that he had returned from his recent trip to England. His soldiers would never be so unguarded had he been in Paris.

"Oh, you soldiers tell such tales." Marguerite stated with disappointment. "Just because I am new to Paris, you think I'll believe anything."

"But it's true!" cried Coupeau.

"Oh, then prove it to me," said an incredulous Marguerite, dismissively waving a delicate hand in the air. "You show me this boy, this, this- "

"St. Just. He's a Frenchman. Armand St. Just." Mercier interjected.

"Yes, but if it were true, you would show him to me. And if he does exist," she excitedly said, "Dieu, what fun to tell my friends I have seen this prisoner. And later tonight," she slipped her hand under Coupeau's uniform jacket and ran it over his chest, "what fun we three will have together, hmm?"

Coupeau's face flushed and his breath quickened. "I'll get the keys." He said in a near dream-like state as he got up to retrieve the keys to Armand's cell.

Marguerite was elated. That was far easier then she had previously imagined. Eager to get away from the remaining soldier, she excused herself and joined the ranks of singing women in the center of the café. She sang the song, a French song that they happened to be singing in English, with all her heart. She had not been this happy in months. Her hastily made plan had worked like a charm and her brother would soon be safe. She saw Coupeau re-enter with the promised keys and her heart took flight. She could almost see Armand she was so close to him now. When the song was over, she would rush to the side of Mercier and Coupeau and they would deliver her to her brother. Marguerite allowed herself to finally relax; Armand was a good as free.

Marguerite was pulled out of her euphoric revere by an incredibly handsome vision that filled her with terror. It was at this moment that Citizen Chauvelin, the most feared agent of the French Republic, walked into the café.

A look of abject horror crossed Marguerite's face, but she quickly caught herself and resumed the act. Perhaps she could elude him. There was a possibility that he didn't recognize her, and she was certain that he had not seen her.

She cast a glance at him and found him scanning the room, his eyes quickly running over every face. She hurriedly looked away to avoid his passing gaze.

After a moment, she absolutely had to know what he was up to. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked to where he stood and her eyes met his. Those pale, yellow eyes seemed to hold her for an eternity; they were searing and she felt as though he was looking into her very soul.

She saw his expression change from one of surprise and disbelief to one of triumph, malice, and passion. The crowd in the café prated for Chauvelin as he quickly strode toward her and she could not find the courage within her to try and escape. Chauvelin grabbed Marguerite by the arm and pulled her against him. His triumphant voice rose above all others and the entire room was silenced.

"Mis amis! Please welcome back to France, in her first return engagement, Mademoiselle Marguerite St. Just!" Chauvelin ripped off Marguerites wig and wrapped his arm around her slender waist, pulled her even closer, and buried his head in her hair, inhaling the scent of rose. He let out a shuddering breath; being so near this woman was driving him mad and his passion nearly overwhelmed him. However, he had her now, and there would be no escape for Marguerite St. Just.

He had time to revel in her presence later; for now, he had a job to do. He once again addressed the crowd, but his once triumphant voice was gone and replaced by contempt. "And now perhaps she will sing the song for us the way it was meant to be sung. That is, _if_ she still. Speaks. French!" He spat these last words as he pushed her forward into the center of attention.

Marguerite was terrified, distraught, and absolutely furious. Her brother had nearly been saved, and now she could see his head under the blade of the Guillotine, and this man would be at fault for Armand's death. Chauvelin still possessed absolute control over her life. What choice did she have but to comply with his wishes? After all, Armand wasn't dead yet. If she did exactly as the agent said, perhaps she could still save her brother. Gathering up her nerve, she continued and finished the song in her native tongue and was met with the applause and cheers of the occupants of the café.

As she turned to escape the crowd, a pair of strong hands rested on her shoulders and ran down her arms. Marguerite shivered as powerful arms encircled her waist and pulled her against a muscular body. Her pulse raced and her breathing quickened as a deep, silken voice whispered in her ear "Welcome home, Marguerite."


	2. Bring Your Renegade Heart Home to Me

**Just a brief warning. This chapter is heavily Chauvelin/Marguerite. If you don't like it, leave.**

**Disclaimer:If I owned the Scarlet Pimpernel, you would know. I don't. Pity me.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 2: Bring Your Renegade Heart Home to Me**

Chauvelin led Marguerite by the arm into the depths of the prison. Mercier and Coupeau followed with their eyes downcast, no doubt ashamed at their betrayal of their leader in both forfeiting a classified secret and touching and holding his woman.

The entered an empty circular room that appeared to be a stationing room for off-duty prison guards. There were several doors along the walls, no doubt leading to the areas where the prisoners were kept. Chauvelin released Marguerite's arm and paced around the room as Mercier and Coupeau stood guard in the corridor.

"You do know, Marguerite, that I admire you, yes? Coming here to save your brother, that shows spirit, courage." Chauvelin stood before her and lifted her head so her frightened blue eyes met his blazing gold ones. "But did you truly think I could be near you and not know you?" he said breathlessly. "Even you are not that great of an actress." He gallantly gestured to a chair in the center of the room. "Will you sit, milady?"

Eager to escape Chauvelin's grasp, Marguerite tore herself away from his burning gaze and sat down in the offered chair. "Armand is here?"

"Ummm."

"Is he…" Marguerite swallowed back threatening tears, "is he well?"

"At the moment." Chauvelin glanced over at the young French woman and felt his icy disposition melt as he was consumed by passion and lust for her. He knelt before her to bring himself level with her desperate gaze. He cupped a hand under her chin and gently ran his thumb across her cheek.

"How beautiful you are, my little love." He whispered longingly as his other hand buried itself in her hair. "My dreams corrupt your image. You're more lovely then I remember." He leaned in to kiss her, but Marguerite turned her head away at the last moment and his lips met her cheek.

Chauvelin felt a piece of him die as the woman he loved turned away from him. His breath caught in his throat, and as his head dropped to her shoulder he thought he might weep. Marguerite placed her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away.

"Enough games, Chauvelin." She whispered. "You know why I am here. I will do anything to save my brother. Name your…" Try as she might, she could not keep the tremor out of her voice. "Your price. Just release Armand."

Chauvelin's world came crashing down around him. "A game." He looked into her eyes in desolation. "My Margot, you think this is a game?" came his broken voice. He stood and strode away from her to give himself the chance to compose himself. _Name my price_ he thought. _My price. If she won't come to my side willingly, I'll make her come to me. I'll make her remember that she loves me, that she needs me._ He quickly pulled himself together and resumed his authoritarian position.

"Mercier, you go. Question the boy." Chauvelin looked over his shoulder at Marguerite with unrestrained, animalistic passion. "I find I have better things to do tonight."

"Right away, Citizen." Mercier crossed the room and entered one of the doors at the far end.

As soon as the door closed, Chauvelin was bearing down on a frightened Marguerite. His hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair and he brought his face inches from hers. "Two things, petite." he growled. "Tonight: Who is the Pimpernel? Where does he hide while in Paris? Armand will not live another day if you fail."

"I will not fail." Said Marguerite defiantly.

"And," Chauvelin's voice softened significantly and his hand cupped her chin and brought her to her feet, "you will be a friend to me again, yes?" he asked, nearly begged, as one hand moved to brush her cheek and the other ran lazily over her breasts.

She involuntary shivered as he touched her and she could not suppress the moan that escaped her throat. With that, Chauvelin nearly lost control. He snaked one arm around her waist and drew her against him. "Promise me, darling." His voice was a soft, trembling whisper.

"I promise." She said breathlessly. All control left him; her very presence, her body pressing against his, it was driving him mad. "Show me, my lover." He moaned as he lifted her chin.

Marguerite could not understand what was happening to her. She should hate this man, who had imprisoned and threatened to kill her brother. This monster who had blackmailed her to commit murder, this demon who had shamelessly used her before, just as he was using her now.

Yet try as she might, she could not calm the feelings of lust and longing she felt for him as he held and touched her. She loved him once, was it possible she still did? Wrapping her arms around his neck, she lowered his head to her lips and kissed him passionately.

Something inside Chauvelin snapped. The Pimpernel was as good as dead, and Marguerite now belonged to him once again. All the pressure the Committee placed on him to find that elusive Englishman, the unbearable tension Marguerite's absence caused him; it was all about to be alleviated. The mere thought of it intoxicated him and he felt the little sanity he still possessed slipping out of his reach. Latching his hands on to her hips, he pulled her even closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

Marguerite constantly reminded herself that she was a married woman, that she was in love with Percy. That she didn't love Chauvelin anymore. She was doing this, selling herself to this man, for Armand's sake. Why then, did his words excite her and his touch make her tremble with pleasure? Though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she was on the brink of falling in love with him again and she wanted him to make her his once more. Moaning as he brought her closer, she entwined one hand in his hair and slipped the other under his vest.

Every inch of Chauvelin's body screamed to take the lovely Marguerite now, but an incessantly irritating voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the pressing need to capture the Pimpernel. Marguerite could easily get the information out of her brother, and this was a matter that unfortunately could not wait until tomorrow.

He reluctantly pulled away from her lips; after all, there would be time later tonight to indulge his passions and take his fill of the beautiful Marguerite.

She whimpered in protest as her lover parted from her, but was immediately silenced as he gently bit her neck.

"The Pimpernel." He whispered. "I must know." He released her, took a step back and looked into her flushed face. "Get to work, cherie."

Marguerite trembled as she gazed into his eyes. It was not the overbearing passion that startled her; it was something else she caught that she couldn't quite place. The fire of this foreign entity seemed to make him more alert, and his eyes quivered and trembled slightly. Had Marguerite not known better, she would have believed him to be possessed. Marguerite turned to leave through the door that Mercier had entered earlier and, with one last look into Chauvelin's feverish stare, left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Chauvelin started trembling and his breath cam faster and in shuddering gasps. He felt light-headed, euphoric even, and he began to chuckle softly. All at once, everything seemed very funny.

Coupeau, who was still standing guard in the hallway, looked around the corner into the room and saw his superior standing in the center of the room with his back turned to him, and his hand at his side was shaking terribly. "Citizen?" Coupeau inquired softly.

Chauvelin was now audibly laughing and he began to make his way to the far side of the room.

Coupeau was beginning to become nervous; he had never seen or even heard of Chauvelin ever acting in this manner. It was unlike him to display any emotion other then irritation and anger. "Citizen…"

Chauvelin had escalated into frantic, maniacal laughter and he leaned his head against the wall, his hand, still trembling, traced along one of the stone bricks.

Coupeau was visibly concerned for his leader and rushed to his side. "Chauvelin, are you alright?" he asked as he lay his hand on his superior's shoulder.

Chauvelin quickly spun around and wrapped his long fingers around Coupeau's neck, lifted him off the ground, slammed him against the wall and held him there. Coupeau was astonished at the strength of the man and tried in vain to pry his vice-like grip off his neck.

"Fine. I'm perfectly fine." Chauvelin calmly stated as he looked up into the eyes of his subordinate. Had Coupeau at that moment the ability to breath, he would have lost it then as he looked down and saw insanity written clear as day across the face of the accredited agent.

Chauvelin suddenly dropped Coupeau and turned in the direction of the open corridor.

"Mon Dieu, Chauvelin. You're mad!" a terrified Coupeau whispered. Ignoring the mutterings of the horror-stricken soldier, Chauvelin strode through the corridor and disappeared around the corner.


	3. God, When Did Man Lose His Reason?

**Brief note. This chapter should be rated T+. There's some violent insanity and more Chauvelin/Marguerite stuff, but it's not too bad.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. When I rule the world, I will**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 3 : God, When Did Man Lose His Reason?**

Marguerite rushed down the long corridor, scanning the faces of the prisoners in a desperate attempt to find Armand. At the end of that row of cells, the pathway split in two directions and she nearly panicked. She was hopelessly lost and hadn't the faintest idea of where to start looking for Armand; she didn't have the time or the patients to aimlessly wander the prison in hopes of finding her brother's cell.

Forcing herself to calm down, she stood at the junction and strained her ears in hopes of hearing her brother's voice or Mercier, who was supposedly trying to secure the name of the Pimpernel.

She didn't know how long she stood in silence as she waited for any sign of Armand's location, but it felt like an eternity she caught wind of distant shouting. She rushed into the corridor to her right and ran down the hallway using the voice as her guide.

At the end of the passage was a closed door from which the voice was coming. Marguerite threw open the door and burst into the room and found her brother doubled over in pain with Chauvelin's soldier standing before him. Mercier placed the heel of his boot on Armand's back and forced him to the ground, growling "Traitorous dog". He wrapped his fingers around Armand's hair and pulled his head off the ground. "Who is he?"

"Stop!" Mercier stepped away in surprise as Marguerite flung herself to her brother's side. "Oh, Armand! Are you alright? Have they hurt you? Speak to me, brother!"

"Don't worry. I'm fine." Armand casually stated, but not without wincing in pain.

"I assume Chauvelin has sent you to take care of things, hmm?" stated Mercier, effectively managing to break up the siblings' reunion.

"Yes." Marguerite sadly whispered. "You can go." At these words, Armand went rigid and backed away from his sister, slowly shaking his head and staring at her with a look of disbelief and betrayal.

Mercier nodded and headed towards the door. "I'll wait outside."

The door slammed behind him and the two stood in silence that seemingly lasted Forever. Marguerite stood up tall and took a few deep breaths before whispering "Armand…"

"You're working for Chauvelin." Armand said in disbelief. "Margot. Margot, how could you?"

"Armand, I'm trying to help you!" Marguerite cried desperately. "And Chauvelin…"

"Chauvelin's evil, Marguerite!" Armand shouted. "A demon from Hell, Satan's right-hand man sent to earth to kill the saint that is the Pimpernel!"

"Don't say such things, Armand!" she snapped back. "Chauvelin is offering me a chance to save you from death and I'd be damned for eternity if I let you die!"

"And you would throw in your lot with the devil to do that?" Armand cried in disbelief. "Christ, Marguerite, you're damned either way! Why not do what's right?"

"I am doing what's right!" was her outraged reply. "I hate myself for what I must do to save my brother, but my loyalties lie to you, Armand, my family. Not to some unknown hero!" With this, Marguerite began to weep bitter tears that try as she might, she could not hold back.

Armand softened at the sight of his sister's tears and pulled her into his embrace. "Hush, Margot. It's going to be alright."

"How can you say that, Armand?" asked Marguerite as she pulled away form her brother. "If I don't find out who the Pimpernel is, the next time I see you, you will be mounting the scaffold of the Guillotine."

"Marguerite…"

"Armand, please! Tell me who the Pimpernel is and you and I will walk out of here!"

Armand slowly shook his head. "I can't do that, Marguerite."

"Chauvelin will kill you, Armand!" she cried.

"I have no doubt he will." Armand said sadly. "But I cannot allow that fiend to win. The Pimpernel is Heaven-sent, Marguerite. Betraying him would be the worst possible crime, and I would be honored to die in his place."

"Don't say that, Armand!" Marguerite shouted. "I'd rather you live!"

You mean you'd rather the Pimpernel be slaughtered!" he accused.

"If it means I won't loose you, then yes!"

"How long have you been working for that Hell-fiend, Marguerite?"

"Don't speak about Chauvelin that way!"

"Now you're defending him!" shouted Armand in disbelief.

"He's offering you your life!" she retorted.

"After he sentenced me to death!"

"He will save you, Armand!"

"He's a snake." Armand growled.

"Stop it, Armand." She said sternly.

"A murderous brute. He's heartless…"

"No…" she whispered.

"…Cruel…" he continued.

"Stop it." She said in a barely audible voice.

"…Uncaring and ruthless. A merciless demon from the pits of Hell. And you're working for him, Marguerite!" Armand furiously shouted. "The devil himself and you're his spy!"

"I love him, Armand!" she shouted. Quickly realizing what she said, she covered her mouth with her hands and flushed a deep shade of red.

Armand became light-headed and swayed on his feet. He was sure he was going to be sick. Chauvelin. She loved him. Marguerite and Chau-. He couldn't bear to think about it.

The utter despair and disgust he initially felt dissolved into betrayal and fury. "First you betray Percy's faith in you with the denunciation of St. Cyr, and now you betray his love! And here you are, ready and willing to betray him to Chauvelin! No wonder he couldn't trust you!"

Marguerite's eyes widened in disbelief as her brother unleashed his fury. It was simply impossible. "Armand…" she whispered. "Percy is the Pimpernel, isn't he? Tell me, Armand."

Armand suddenly realized the mistake he had made, but could not find it in himself to lie to his sister. He bowed his head and said nothing.

Marguerite was now sobbing uncontrollably and fell to the floor in desolation. "Tell me it's not true." She cried. "Tell me that Percy isn't really the Pimpernel, Armand!"

Armand began to shake. Marguerite had found out her husband's secret, and he was at fault for the betrayal of his friend and leader. He ran to Marguerite and knelt by her. "Marguerite, you cannot say a word, do you understand me? Not a word."

Marguerite heard nothing and fixed a visionless gaze at the floor.

* * *

Chauvelin stood in front of a small inn out in the countryside just outside of Paris. After leaving the prison, he went to his office to look over the large stack of denunciations sitting on his desk. He shifted through them and picked out the one that he decided was his favorite on the basis that it was anonymous, therefore unreliable, and there was no evidence against the accused. He grabbed two swords, three pistols, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition before heading out to the small inn said to harbor fugitive aristocrats. 

He walked up to the door and found it to be locked. Softly humming to himself, he stepped back and drew his pistol from his belt and fired three rounds at the lock, which fell off after the first shot. Quietly laughing, he slowly reloaded his gun, placed it back in his belt, picked up the fallen lock and kicked open the door.

As he walked inside, he quickly scanned the occupants, about twenty people sitting in the small dining room. Most of them were men, but there were a few women and a single child, all of them looking in terror at the Agent of the Republic.

The innkeeper, a thin, middle-aged man, timidly walked up to address the fearsome man. However, before he had a chance to speak, Chauvelin thrust the detached lick into the innkeepers hand, declaring, "I believe this is yours" in a nearly singsong voice. Walking over to the dining room entrance, he surveyed the crowd once more.

The innkeeper was absolutely speechless. The most feared man in all of France had just walked into his humble establishment and handed him he lock to his door. It was certainly unusual behavior, if not unheard of. Gathering up the courage to approach the man, he asked in a timid, shaky voice "Can I help you?"

Chauvelin drew his gun and pointed it at the man's chest. "Were you aware, Citizen, that you are accused of harboring traitors to France?" he asked with icy calm.

The innkeeper froze in terror, and was rendered incapable of intelligent thought or speech. As the barrel of the gun pressed into his chest, he found the strength to utter a negative response.

Chauvelin cocked his head to one side. "Oh?" A smile of pure malice played across his face. "Pity." was all he said before he pulled the trigger.

The man fell to the ground and clutched at the wound, trying desperately to do something, anything to save himself. The occupants of the inn panicked. They had nowhere to run or hide, and no way to escape, for the agent stood in the only exit.

Chauvelin rocked on his heels, alternately humming softly and laughing as he reloaded the pistol, drew another one and pointed them into the panicking crowd and fired.

* * *

"You cannot allow this Englishman to taunt us in this manner, Robespierre!" 

"Calm yourselves." Robespierre coolly stated. "Members of the Committee, I assure you that this Pimpernel will be brought to justice. I've got my best agent working on the case, and he assures me the man's identity no later then tomorrow afternoon."

Mutters of consent and approval echoed through the chamber where the Committee of Public Safety was holding their regular evening meeting. It was at this time that Chauvelin's personal aide, Degas, rushed into the room.

Robespierre was clearly annoyed at this unwanted interruption and glared coldly at the young man. "What is it you have to say, Citizen, that could not wait until a more convenient time?" Robespierre asked, straining to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Citizen Robespierre, Agent Chauvelin has gone insane!" Degas rapidly stated.

"What?"

"He came into the office not an hour ago," Degas continued, "searched through the denunciations and picked one at random." Degas' eyes widened in fear. "He was _singing_, Citizen. Humming and laughing, carrying on like there was no one else present. Have you ever heard of Agent Chauvelin acting in this manner?"

"No, that certainly is curious." Robespierre said thoughtfully. "Do continue."

"He then took every weapon he could find; blades, fire arms, ammunition and walked out with the denunciation and armed to the teeth!"

"And you let him go?" Robespierre shouted.

"I tried to stop him, Citizen," Degas assured, "but he is uncommonly strong. Look." Degas unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his chest. His entire torso was covered in discolorations and large welts unlike any of the men present had ever seen before.

"How did…but…Chauvelin did this?" Robespierre stuttered. Degas answered affirmative as he buttoned his shirt.

"Contact a division of soldiers, Citizen." Ordered Robespierre. "Explain the situation and send them after Agent Chauvelin. He is not to be harmed, understand? Bring him to me."

"Yes, Citizen." With that, Degas left the room.

* * *

The inn was a brutal vision of carnage at best. All occupants were dead or dying except for one man who was leaning back in a chair with one foot crossed over the other on a table. He sat with a bare chest and was humming to himself as he wiped the blood off one of his swords with his shirt. 

The sounds of gasps and moans of pain came from the front of the inn and pulled Chauvelin back to the scene. Sheathing his sword, he stood up and wandered to the source of the noise. He found the innkeeper still clutching his wound and gasping for breath, trying desperately to hold on to life.

Chauvelin's face betrayed a hint of genuine sympathy for the man. "Ah…oh dear." He placed his foot on the man's chest and pointed his pistol at the innkeeper. "I offer you my humble apologies, monsieur." He said gently before firing six rounds into the man's head.

He placed his gun back in his belt and turned to leave, but stopped as he saw a maid walk down the stairs with a look of sheer terror in her eyes as she surveyed the massacre.

"Good evening, Madame." Chauvelin gallantly said as he stooped to bring her hand to his lips. "Lovely place you have here. But, sadly, I must take my leave of you presently." He began to walk out the door, but stopped to address the young woman again. "Ah, Madame?" he gently called. "It seems I have left a bit of a mess. If you wouldn't mind taking care of it…" he said with as much charm as he was capable. "Oh, and the lock on the door somehow fell off. You may want to have that repaired." With that, he turned around and left for Paris.

* * *

"What will I do, Armand?" asked a desolate Marguerite. "I must choose between my brother and my husband. How can I do that?" 

"Margot, please. You must trust Percy. He will find a way. He always does."

"But how can you be sure?" she cried.

"Just have faith. He will come." Reassured Armand.

Some sort of commotion started outside in the corridor that halted the siblings' conversation, and not one minute later, Chauvelin entered the room followed closely by Mercier and Coupeau.

"Chauvelin, what's wrong with you?" Mercier shouted.

"Half the French army is looking for you, Chauvelin!" exclaimed Coupeau.

Chauvelin ignored his soldiers and made his way to Marguerite, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. His actions took her by surprise, but she quickly succumbed to him and ran her hands over his bare shoulders.

Armand was enraged and rushed at Marguerite's lover. "Let her go, demon!"

"Restrain him." Chauvelin ordered Mercier and Coupeau as he broke away from Marguerite. The soldiers immediately followed their orders and Armand was subdued before he could lay a finger on the agent. "I swear," Armand growled, "if you touch her again…"

Chauvelin ignored the man's threat and pressed Marguerite against a wall and pinned her arms over her head as he kissed the pit of her neck and ran his hand up and down her leg. Marguerite flushed, her breathing quickened and she moaned his name as he touched her.

Armand had to turn away; the sight of his own sister being so receptive to the touch of that snake made him nauseous. It was just another way to betray the Pimpernel, her husband, and she wanted it.

"You remember where my flat is, darling? Chauvelin softly asked.

"Yes, Chauvelin."

"Good." He released her and headed towards the door. "I'll meet you there within two hours. I still have a bit of work to do."

"Of course, my love." She whispered.

"Mercier, Coupeau, lock that boy up." He ordered as he walked out of the door. Chauvelin's men threw Armand into the cell, locked the door and walked out of the room. Coupeau paused and called "Come along, mademoiselle."

As Marguerite turned to leave, Armand called out to her and she turned to face him. "Tell me, Marguerite." He said with a voice full of contempt. "Do you enjoy being Chauvelin's whore?"

His harsh words struck her heart, and she turned and left without a word with tears hanging in her eyes.

* * *

Despite the hundreds of people in the streets and the multitude of soldiers looking for him, Chauvelin managed to creep unnoticed to the base of the Guillotine. It wasn't until he actually mounted the scaffold that Citizen Robespierre noticed him from his office window and rushed out to meet him. 

Chauvelin ran his hand along the smooth, steel blade. "Are you upset, Madame?" he quietly asked. "Have I disappointed you? I have denied you the blood of those traitors and took them myself." He moaned as he kissed the blade and laid his head on the cool surface. "I am unworthy to be your servant. Tell me how I shall atone for my sin and earn your forgiveness."

Robespierre watched in fascination as his most valuable asset spoke to and lovingly stroked the blade of the Guillotine. Degas was right; the man was completely loopy.

The Captain of the Guard ran up to Robespierre with a division of men in tow. "Would you like to tell me, Captain, how Agent Chauvelin managed to get within the city walls, walk to the heart of Paris, and mount the scaffold without you or any of your soldiers noticing him?" Robespierre calmly stated. It was for this exact reason that Chauvelin was such an incredible spy and in the position of power that he occupied, so it didn't surprise the Committee leader at all.

"Forgive me, Citizen. We'll seize him immediately."

"No." he ordered. "I want to see this."

"It's hardly an adequate substitute for the blood of the traitors you shall never taste." Chauvelin drew his sword and ran his hand along the length of the blade, cutting a deep gash across the width of his hand. "But your hunger must be appeased." He gently said as he ran his bleeding hand down the blade of the Guillotine. Moaning, he dropped to his knees and laid his head and bare chest against the blade and began to quietly sing to the instrument that had possessed him.

The Captain looked on in astonishment at the display. "Shall we restrain him?" he asked as he turned to face Robespierre.

"No," he slowly said, "I think I like this change in my agent. Leave him to his own devices." Robespierre said as he walked away form the scene and Chauvelin's escalating laughter.

* * *

Marguerite stood in the living room of Chauvelin's flat trying to make sense of all that had happened that day. She had been reunited with her brother, she had accepted Chauvelin as her lover again, and her husband was the Pimpernel. 

Very little of it made any sense, and none of it could work out in her favor, and her life would be forced to change. First off, she needed to choose between her husband and her brother, both men of which she loved dearly. One of them had to die, and that one's blood would be on her hands.

Then she had the self-imposed choice between Percy and Chauvelin. Percy, her husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel, a hero, she loved him more then anyone in the world. Except, of course, for her brother. And Chauvelin. Chauvelin, so silent, so mysterious, so passionate. She loved him; she could no longer deny that.

She violently shook her head in an attempt to clear her confusion. She was convinced that she didn't love him this morning; what was happening to her?

She was so absorbed in thought that she didn't notice Chauvelin until he wrapped his hands around her arms and kissed her neck.

"My Margot. Darling. Little love. What do you have for me?" he whispered as his hands moved to undo the laces of her dress. "Who is the Pimpernel?"

Marguerite shivered, and before she could stop herself, said, "I have his name, Chauvelin."

"Oh?" He chuckled slightly and pushed the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders. "May I inquire into the man's name, my love?"

Things were moving too fast. She didn't expect him to bring this up until tomorrow morning at the earliest. She needed a chance to think, a way to save both Armand and Percy. Chauvelin ran his hands over her stomach and she lost the ability to think clearly. Before she knew what she was saying, she confessed, "It's my husband, Percy."

"Ah…so Blakeney is the Pimpernel, hmm?" he purred. "Unexpected, of course, but that makes sense." He paused and kissed her shoulder before smoothly stating "Clever girl. You've done surprisingly well." Pulling her closer against him, he left a trail of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone.

Marguerite shivered and felt the familiar excitement as her pulse quickened. "I love you, Chauvelin." She moaned as she lost herself in his embrace.

"I know, darling." was all he said as he carried her to the bed.


	4. This Vision Who Was Not Quite Real

**Author's note: There is _no_ author's note**

**Disclaimer:I believe we've already been over this. I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 4:** **This Vision Who Was Not Quite Real**

"Marguerite! Marguerite!" Sir Percy Blakeney frantically rushed around his manor, desperately calling for his wife in an attempt to locate the lovely woman. He threw open the door of he bedchambers for the umpteenth time that morning. "Marguerite, where are you? Marguerite!" He helplessly collapsed on her bed in utter despair and exhaustion. His beautiful wife, his angel; she was gone. He buried his head into a pillow and fought back bitter tears of loss that threatened to fall from his eyes.

"Percy, are you alright?" Sir Tony Dewhurst asked as he ran into the room, closely followed by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. "We came as soon as we heard."

"Oh God, Tony, Andrew, she's gone!" he cried. "She left me! That shining star, the love of my life, she's gone!"

"Calm down, Percy." Andrew said as he put his arm around his desolate friend's shoulders. "I'm sure she didn't leave you. She probably went to go into town. Or to visit Susanne. You know how she loves that girl's company. Or…"

"Or she went to France." Tony interjected, his eyes suddenly lighting up.

"No!" Percy cried as he started freely weeping. "She misses France so much she went back! I was a fool to marry her." He mournfully said. "I took her form the home she loved and now she has returned."

"Nonsense, Percy." Andrew said gently. "She loves you!"

"Percy," Tony said as he knelt before his friend, "pull yourself together. Think. Why would Marguerite go to France?"

"Because she loves it there, Tony!" he cried. "Oh, Marguerite, my love, my darling, my angel…"

"Stop that Percy!" Tony shouted and Percy was immediately silenced. "She loves you, she loves England. That's why she married you, you dolt!" Tony calmed down a bit as his harsh words seemed to bring Percy to his senses. "Now, why would Marguerite leave you and go to France?"

Percy immediately understood what his friend was getting at. "Armand. She's going to try and save Armand." Percy jumped to his feet and headed out the door. "Percy, wait! Where are you going?" Andrew called.

"Tony, Andrew, when were we scheduled to sail to France?"

"Tomorrow evening, Percy." Tony responded. "Not anymore!" Percy nearly shouted. "I want you two to contact the rest of the League. Have them meet here as soon as they can possibly make it here. We sail for France this afternoon!" he triumphantly concluded.

"But on such short notice?" Andrew asked. "Percy, if we rush things now, we are more susceptible to mistakes."

"That, my friend, is a risk we must take." Percy determinately stated. "We cannot afford to lose anymore time. Remember, the stakes are much higher now. Both Armand and Marguerite are on the line. Go now. We have not a moment to lose!"

Tony and Andrew left immediately and Percy ran to his study to formulate a plan. Marguerite hadn't left him; he had never felt such joy. He would soon be rushing into France to save his goddess and he would tell her everything. Percy set to work with a beaming grin on his face from the knowledge that his wife would soon be in his embrace once again.

* * *

Marguerite lay completely breathless in Chauvelin's arms. She could not understand for the life of her how he could so easily make her forget everything. Everything except for him, of course. Pulling herself closer to him, she gently kissed his collarbone and his arms tightened around her. 

"Marguerite," he softly whispered, "about your brother." Marguerite tensed. She had forgotten about Armand. Chauvelin had promised his release upon his possession of the Scarlet Pimpernel's name. "You must release him. You promised me his freedom."

"Yes, yes." He quickly stated. "But…" But? She was unaware this arrangement had further conditions. "Marguerite," he smoothly drawled as he kissed her neck, "I want you to bring Armand back to the Republic."

"What? Chauvelin, that's ridiculous!" she said in absolute shock. "You know how stubborn Armand is. It would be impossible to…" Marguerite was silenced as Chauvelin passionately kissed her.

"For you, darling," he softly whispered as he broke away, "nothing is impossible." She shivered as he ran his hands over her body and breathlessly said "I'll do what I can, my love."

* * *

The word spread quickly that Agent Chauvelin had cracked under the pressure of the Committee's demands. Like gossip so often does, the actual plight of the innkeeper became lost in a torrent of rumors and mistellings of the case. The story mutated from one of the senseless massacre of innocent people to one of the noble slaughter of traitorous aristocrats. This made Chauvelin a hero overnight and forced the public to fear him even more then before, if that was even possible, and nothing could please Robespierre more. 

He leaned on the windowsill in his office and looked down at the masses of people in the square. All those people were no doubt talking about the insanity of the already dangerous man.

A slight smile played across Robespierre's face. Let them talk, for it caused them to live in more fear of the Committee then before.

Robespierre was pulled out of his daze as Chauvelin entered the office. "Good morning, Citizen." Robespierre said, giving a quick nod in Chauvelin's direction.

Chauvelin's pale eyes scanned the room. There sat Robespierre at the window, and another man at his desk. Chauvelin cocked his head to one side and stared at the boy. Who was he? He was certainly too young to serve on the Committee. A secretary, perhaps? Choosing that it would be in good practice to acknowledge his superior, he nodded in his direction.

"How are you, Chauvelin?" he asked indifferently.

"As well as can be expected." Chauvelin answered. "May I inquire as to who your assistant is?"

Robespierre's eyes widened in confusion. "What assistant?"

"The one sitting at your desk."

Robespierre looked at Chauvelin in disbelief. There was nobody at his desk, and only he and the agent were in the room. He realized that however mad the man was yesterday, it was much worse today.

Robespierre shook his head and changed the topic. "Never mind my assistant, Chauvelin. You promised me the name of the Pimpernel today."

"Ah, yes." He walked over to a cabinet in the corner and traced the carved designs with his index finger.

"Well, who is he?" Robespierre shouted.

"A man by the name of Sir Percy Blakeney. He is an English Baronet in the court of the Prince of Wales." Chauvelin's eyes narrowed as he quickly turned and strode toward the center of the room. "He is the husband of Marguerite St. Just, now Marguerite Blakeney, and the brother-in-law of Armand St. Just, who is in league with the man." He walked over to Robespierre's desk and shuffled through some files, looking thoroughly at select documents.

"Chauvelin, what…" "I'm not finished yet, Robespierre." Chauvelin said coldly. "Armand knows more about that damnable Englishman then I could ever hope to know. Executing him would deal a harder blow to the Republic then to the Pimpernel. I want him working for the Committee."

"Very well."

"His sister is the one who secured the name of the Pimpernel from him. She will be spying for me indefinitely." A wicked smile played across Chauvelin's face. "We have one of his league and his beloved wife. He has no choice but to come to us. And when he does, he won't escape."

"And how can you be certain about that, Chauvelin?" Robespierre sneered. "He has escaped from your grasp dozens of times. What makes you so confident he can't elude you this time?"

Chauvelin cast a dangerous glance at Robespierre. "I didn't say he couldn't get away from us, Citizen. I have no doubt he is entirely capable. I said that he wouldn't. He will refuse to leave without both St. Just's. That's his nature. He won't abandon the ones he loves."

Robespierre laughed harshly at what he considered to be the rantings of a mad man. "You're a fool, Chauvelin. The Pimpernel will merely take them away as he has done with all of those damned aristocrats!"

"Wrong!" he shouted as he slammed his hand down on the desk. "The boy he may be able to take; in fact, I expect him to have success in that endeavor. But Marguerite…" He heaved a sigh of content. "Lovely Marguerite. No, she won't go back with him. And he won't leave without her. She stays. So will he. He can only elude capture within France for so long. He won't leave France; we're bound to catch him eventually."

"He is her husband, Chauvelin. How can you be sure that she won't go back with him?"

Chauvelin slammed his hand into Robespierre's shoulder and held him to the wall. "Because," he whispered, bringing his face within inches of the other's, "I've been making love to his wife."

Releasing Robespierre, he slowly walked towards the desk. "Now, your very presence is a nuisance, and I demand to know who you are." he loudly declared, speaking to no one but the apparition that only his eyes could see. The young boy looked up at Chauvelin and did nothing but smile.

Robespierre didn't move. For a little while, Chauvelin sounded logical and in full control of himself. Yet this short moment of clarity was shattered and he reverted back into his mad ranting. Robespierre clutched the place where Chauvelin had held him and pulled his shirt away slightly to examine the area. His eyes widened in surprise; the place where Chauvelin's hand had touched and the surrounding area was already beginning to show signs of discoloration. It appeared that along with his insanity, he had acquired immense strength.

"Chauvelin, listen to me!" Robespierre commanded as he walked toward his agent.

"Who are you, boy?" Chauvelin whispered to the smirking child.

"There's nobody there, Chauvelin." Said Robespierre as he reached out to touch the man, but stopped as he saw the agent tense, his breath quicken, and his eyes dilate so none of the pale yellow could be seen. Robespierre slowly backed away as a sudden fear gripped him when he realized that, contrary to what he previously believed, he could not control the insanity that held Chauvelin.

The boy gracefully stood and began to walk toward the slowly retreating agent. "May I speak with you, Armand Chauvelin?" the apparition smoothly drawled.

Without saying a word, Chauvelin turned on his heel and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Smiling slightly, the boy crossed the room and passed through the door.

* * *

Mercier and Coupeau led Marguerite to Armand's cell. As Mercier flipped through the keys, Coupeau walked to Marguerite's side. 

"Mademoiselle, after you conclude your visit with your brother, may I speak with you?" Coupeau lowered his voice. "It is of the utmost importance."

Curiosity crossed Marguerite's face. "Of course. What's wrong?"

"Your brother waits for you, mademoiselle." Mercier called. "He will be kept within his cell for security reasons. Is that alright?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Thank you." Marguerite turned to enter the room, but was stopped as Coupeau grabbed her hand. "Please. Don't forget, Madame."

Marguerite nodded. "Don't worry. There is very little I forget, Citizen." She said as she entered the room.

Armand was lying on the cot in his cell, staring blankly at the wall. Marguerite tread softly into the room and was about to speak, but Armand spoke first.

"So, Marguerite. How was the bed of Agent Chauvelin?"

Marguerite flushed a deep shade of red. How could he say such a thing? She tried to respond, but found herself unable to articulate anything. Armand took her inability to speak as a sign to continue.

"Oh, but of course, he must be _very_ good to be able to entice _you_ to get underneath him. After all, the Devil must be incredibly skilled to drive people from God."

"Might I remind you, Armand," Marguerite said through clenched teeth, "that if you weren't careless enough to get captured, neither of us would be here right now!" Marguerite's outburst stole Armand's retort, for he knew that she spoke the truth. "Armand," she whispered, "you're going to be released within the week. But I must stay here in France. That was one of the conditions for your safety."

Armand winced. The fact that Marguerite was bound to Chauvelin was bad enough; the fact that it was his fault was unbearable. "I want you to stay here with me, Armand." Armand's head snapped up. It all made sense now. She was under orders of Chauvelin to keep him under Republic control.

He stood up and glared at his sister. "Hear me now, Marguerite." I will not be tempted to work for the Republic like you. Percy will come for me. And mark my word, when I see him, he will know of you and Chauvelin."

Marguerite's eyes widened in terror. "No, Armand you can't!"

"Watch me, Marguerite!" Armand snarled. "And why do you care either way, spy? You don't love him."

"No, that's not true!" she cried. "I love –"

"I'm done with you, Marguerite." Armand said as he lay back down and turned his back to his sister. "Leave me."

Marguerite could not stop her tears. She had so much to say to Armand, but any words she uttered now would fall on deaf ears. Casting one last glance at her brother, she turned and left the room.

Closing the door behind her, she composed herself and wiped the tears form her eyes and walked to Coupeau's side. "You wanted to speak with me. What is it?"

"Madame," he whispered as he pulled her to the side, "I couldn't hope worrying about you, but I fear for your safety."

"What?" she asked quite confused. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if you've noticed or heard, but Citizen Chauvelin has gone insane."

"That's impossible.' She said in a hushed tone.

"I assure you it is as I said." Coupeau quietly said. "He has become violent and completely unpredictable. I thought that as his lover you should be aware of his current state." He released her and smiled at the beautiful creature. "Just be careful, mademoiselle. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call for me. I'd hate to see your pretty self damaged."

"Yes, she said slowly. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

She left the prison and quickly made her way back to Chauvelin's flat. As soon as she got in, she collapsed. The girl was clearly shaken. She had lost her brother, she was going to lose her husband, and if what Coupeau said was true, she may very well lose her lover as well. Things couldn't possibly get worse.

Taking a few deep breaths, she calmed down and settled on what needed to be done. Armand was going to tell Percy everything; that she had betrayed him, that she loved Chauvelin, and that she was spying for France. This was to be avoided at all costs.

Despite all that had happened, she was still hopelessly in love with Percy. To lose him would be to lose everything. So Armand simply could not get to Percy before she did at any cost. She would tell him everything, and deep in her heart, she knew he would understand and take her in his arms and kiss her like he used to. This way, she would have her husband and a chance to rebuild her brother's faith in her.

And Chauvelin? She would have to look into his supposed madness further. But whether he was truly insane or not, Marguerite had already decided that if it was at all possible to return to Percy, she would leave Chauvelin without a second thought. That was her final decision. Nothing could change that.

* * *

The Daydream docked at the coastal town of Calais that very afternoon. The League had mobilized with incredible speed after Percy's frantic message and they were able to leave England that very morning instead of later that afternoon like Percy had earlier planned. 

Percy shrugged as he put on the long brown overcoat of the Belgian spy, Grappin. "Ah, well, the sooner we get going, the better for Armand and Marguerite." He said under his breath.

He walked out of his cabin on to the deck of the ship where he found nine soldiers of the Republic waiting for him. Percy smiled broadly as he approached the group of men. "La, but you boys look fabulous!" he drawled in the voice of fop he was so used to playing. "Not that I'd wear such a thing, mind you. Look at how those colors clash!" Percy sighed heavily and shook his head. "Honesty, you think the French would know better…"

Smiling as he was met with the laughter of his men, he fixed a false nose over his real one. "Alright, boys. We need to split up. Tony, you lead one group, Andrew, you lead the other." Percy eyes narrowed as he began to assume the role of the man he would soon be forced to play.

"Find out all you can about the whereabouts of Armand's cell. He is your first priority, for the chances stand that he has spoken to Marguerite and may know her location. Tony, you and your group shall search the bars and cafes. Andrew, your division is to search the inns and the offices of business. I will seek out Chauvelin. He is sure to know everything we need. I shall meet you all in the café next to the Comedie Francaise at six o'clock."

The League nodded in acknowledgement. "Very well, men!" Percy said brightly. "Onward Ho!"

"Percy!" Andrew shouted. "Chauvelin is a dangerous man. Do be careful."

Percy smiled at his friend as he pulled a wide-brimmed hat over his head. "Don't worry, Andrew. Chauvelin trusts his spy completely."

* * *

Chauvelin sat in his office with his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his hands. He needed to do something about this assistant to Robespierre. The child had greatly disturbed him, but he wasn't exactly sure why. He had seen this child before, of this he was certain. 

He looked behind him at the window and gazed at the people walking in the streets below. A triumphant smile passed over his face. All the people that he now looked upon feared him, respected him. Not one of them would dare cross him; the power he held over these simpletons was incredible.

Wearing a grin of absolute satisfaction, he turned around and found himself face-to-face with the pale yellow eyes of Robespierre's child assistant. "Good afternoon, Chauvelin." Said the smooth, impassive tenor voice of the boy.

Chauvelin jumped out of the chair and quickly backed up against the wall. "What do you want of me?" he asked in near hysteria.

The boy simply sat there with extreme amusement on his face. The child was thin, long-limbed, and incredibly pale with jet-black hair and the same falcon-like eyes of the agent that contrasted beautifully with his pale skin and dark complexion.

Laying his long, slender fingers on the desk, he rose from where he was sitting. "I merely wish to help you, Chauvelin." He quietly said.

"You're too young to assist the Committee, boy." Chauvelin sneered. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen, monsieur."

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

The boy began to slowly walk towards the petrified agent. "Oh, you know who I am, Citizen." The boy smoothly drawled as he advanced on the older man. "I am you, Armand Chauvelin."

As he looked at the child, he knew that what the boy had said was true; there was no mistaking that this boy was in fact the very image of a younger Chauvelin. Swallowing whatever panic that was creeping upon him, he quietly asked, "What do you want from me?"

Young Chauvelin looked up at the agent and turned on the charm. "I want nothing from you, Citizen." He said in a silvery voice as he laid his hand on the man's chest. "I want to help you."

Chauvelin felt himself slipping into the boy's hands, falling prey to the near seductive tone of the younger man. Pulling forth the last of his own resolve, he pushed the boy away and walked to the other side of the room. "And what can you, a mere child, do for me?" Chauvelin asked in a curious but slightly irritated tone.

"I can guide you." He said with sleek cool as he walked toward the agent.

That was it. Chauvelin groaned as he sank to his knees before the child and felt will of the boy replace his own will. The young Chauvelin smiled slyly and gently stroked the man's hair. "Let me lead you, Chauvelin." he whispered in his ear.

Chauvelin shivered and without delay asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Kill the Belgian spy." The boy answered without missing a beat.

"What?" Chauvelin asked in a daze as he pulled away slightly from the boy's touch. "Grappin is in England."

"Not anymore." The boy tenderly responded. "Stay here. He will seek you out. When he comes, kill him."

"Kill him…" Chauvelin repeated completely dazed.

"Chauvelin." The younger said as he gently pulled the agent's head against his stomach. "Follow me, and you will never falter."

Chauvelin lacked the strength to fight the hypnotic powers of the child, and at that moment he knew that he would do whatever the young Armand Chauvelin said without question.


	5. Who's Lived a Vain and Useless Life

**Not much of an authors note, but just a brief warning. This chapter is violent in ways that nobody will like. Nobody has ever done anything like this before for a good reason. I will probably be lynched for this, but before you flame me, wait for the next chapter. I promise that it's not as bad as you think. **

**Disclaimer:I had a dream that I owned the Scarlet Pimpernel. Then I woke up to discover that I don't.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 5: Who's Lived a Vain and Useless Life**

Tony had a hell of a time finding Armand's location. All afternoon he had been interrogating soldiers all over the city, and very few of them even knew that a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had been captured.

After he was just about to give up in frustration, he caught wind of a small group of soldiers speaking of the impending trial of a certain Armand St. Just. Straining to hear what they were saying, he caught the name of the prison where his comrade was being held and sped out into the streets.

Coming upon the gates of the prison, he saw that the jail was incredibly well fortified and the Captain of the Guard himself was standing watch at the front gate. Tony rolled his eyes in annoyance at this unexpected complication, but he determined that it would not be difficult to get past the man.

Walking forward with a gait of authority, he approached the Captain and saluted. "Citizen, I have been sent to interrogate the prisoner Armand St. Just."

The Captain skeptically looked at the soldier; he hadn't been expecting anybody to question the League member. "Oh? Who sent you?"

"Agent Chauvelin."

"Do you have the papers from the Citizen giving you permission to interrogate the boy?"

Tony's breath caught in his throat. He certainly wasn't expecting that. Quickly catching himself, he shook his head. "I do not, Captain. You know how Chauvelin is nowadays."

"Ah, yes. Of course." That explained everything. He leaned in close to Tony and quietly asked, "How is Agent Chauvelin?"

Tony was slightly taken aback, but he went along with the Captain. "He's stressed, I think. He hardly had a word for me before he rushed out of the room."

The Captain nodded and he stepped aside to allow the soldier entrance. "Good luck, Citizen." the Captain said as he saluted. "That boy is stubborn like none I have ever seen. I'll have the jail guard show you to his cell."

"Thank you, Captain." Tony said as he passed through the gate.

As he was led to Armand's cell, Tony allowed himself to relax. The hard part was over, and all he had to do now was talk to Armand. He walked into the room that held Armand's cell and closed the door behind him.

He looked into the prison of his friend and saw Armand laying on the cot, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a slow, even pattern. Tony grinned in a mockery of a malicious grin; Armand was asleep.

Picking up an empty pan, he threw it at the bars of the cell and screamed as loud as he could "Wake up, dog!"

Armand sprang put of the bed at the sound of metal striking metal and began cursing fluently in both French and English.

Tony laughed out loud at the display. "For shame. You should know better then to curse in English. It's far too elegant a language to be used for such vulgar purposes." Tony reprimanded in English as he shook his finger at the now silent and completely stunned man. He smiled slyly at his friend. "That's why we have French, what?"

"Tony?" Armand asked tentatively.

Tony removed his hat and bowed deeply. "One and the same." He righted himself and nodded in his friend's direction. "Hello, Armand."

"Tony!" he shouted as he clasped his friend's hand through the bars. "How have you been?"

"Never mind me, Armand. How have you been?"

The joy he felt from seeing his friend quickly evaporated into bitter despair. "I don't believe I could possibly be any worse, Tony."

Tony placed his hand on the desolate man's shoulder. "Tell me all about it, but first, I need to take care of some business for Percy, if you don't mind too terribly." Armand nodded and sat down on the edge of the cot and Tony pulled up a stool to the bars of the cell.

"First things first," Tony began, "Percy sends his apologies for not being able to get here sooner. As we arrived this afternoon, we are spending the rest of the day gathering what information we can and we meet tonight to plan your rescue."

Armand breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God."

"Also, Percy wants to know if you have seen Marguerite."

Armand stiffened. "Yes, Tony." He mournfully said. "To my misfortune, I have seen my sister."

Fear and concern crossed Tony's face. "Is everything alright? Is she well?"

"She is spying for Chauvelin, Tony."

Armand's words hung heavy in the air, and for a while, neither man could speak. Tony's head was spinning. Marguerite had been suspected before of spying for France, but Percy had assured them only recently that she had been blackmailed by her former lover into denouncing one of Percy's close friends. Percy. What would he think? So recently he had found he could once again trust his beloved wife. What would this do to him?

Taking a deep breath, Tony managed to ask "Armand, are you sure?"

"I'm positive, but that's not the worst of it."

"Marguerite's a spy!" Tony shouted. "How could it possibly be any worse?"

"She loves him, Tony."

Tony heard Armand, but he didn't comprehend a word. His friend was suddenly speaking a language Tony simply couldn't understand. "What?" he asked weakly.

"Marguerite is in love with Chauvelin, Tony." he whispered, his entire body trembling as he spoke these words he knew were true but he didn't want to believe.

"You lying dog…"

"You can ask her yourself." Armand said bitterly. "She's staying at Chauvelin's residence. I can give you the address if you so wish to speak to my darling sister."

"No." Tony said in a hushed tone. "I believe you." He hung his head in utter despair. "What will Percy say?"

"That doesn't matter right now." Armand sternly said. "She knows that Percy is the Pimpernel."

Tony's eyes immediately flashed with fear. "Oh God…Does Chauvelin know?"

Armand shook his head, "I don't know, but I can only assume that she has told her lover everything."

"Poor Percy. This is going to break his heart." He sat in silence for a few moments before rising and turning towards the door. "We're going to get you out of here, Armand, alright? Just hang on for a little while longer. I've got to go find Percy. If Chauvelin does in fact know the Pimpernel is him, he may run into a bit of trouble."

"Tony, wait!" Armand shouted. "You're not going to tell Percy about Marguerite, are you?"

Tony sadly shook his head. "Not yet, Armand. I fear the very words will kill him."

"Let me tell him, Tony." Armand whispered.

Tony nodded and opened the door to leave. "Of course, Armand." he said and then left the man in solitude.

* * *

Andrew sighed in disappointment as he exited yet another inn with no more information then he had when he entered. He looked to the sky and prayed that Tony was having better luck then he. It was getting late and he didn't have much time before he was to meet with the rest of the League. Deciding that he had enough time to search one more establishment, he crossed the street and entered one of the few inns he had not yet inspected. 

No sooner had he entered that his eyes caught a pair of beautiful blue ones, yet he immediately looked away and continued on.

The owner of those eyes, however, did not forget that man as soon as he had. Turning around and gazing at the back of the receding soldier, she tentatively called "Sir Andrew?"

Andrew quickly turned around at the mention of his name and found himself looking into the eyes of none other then Marguerite.

"Sir Andrew, it is you!" she cried as she threw herself into his arms. "Andrew, where is Percy? Is he alright? Is he in danger?"

"Wait, Marguerite." Andrew interrupted. "Calm down. What are you talking about?"

Marguerite pulled away from him and, trembling, looked fearfully into his eyes. "Andrew, I know about Percy. I know he is the Pimpernel."

Andrew's heart stopped. "You know?" he whispered. "How did you…"

She put her finger to his lips. "Hush! Armand told me. Come away. I'll tell you everything."

He nodded and allowed her to take his hand and lead him up the stairs and into one of the small, secluded rooms. Carefully closing the door behind her, she motioned for Andrew to sit down on the bed and, taking his hands in her own, she sat next to him.

"Andrew," Marguerite slowly began, "I have a few confessions to make, but you must promise to listen to my explanations and promise not to hold any of this against me, for I greatly regret the things I have done in the past few days."

Andrew paled and trembled slightly. He had a feeling that this was going to be worse then he could possibly prepare for, but he nodded in agreement to Marguerite's request. Her hands tightened around Andrew's hands as she began.

"I left England without a word to anyone to come here and save Armand. Chauvelin had told me about my brother's peril and I knew I had to go on my own to save him because there was nobody in England who could help me. When I arrived here, I came very close to saving Armand, but I was captured by Chauvelin before I had a chance."

Marguerite shifted uncomfortably on the bed and Andrew laid his hand upon her shoulder. "It's alright. Go on."

She smiled sadly at the man and nodded in assent. "He told me that he would execute Armand the very next day if I didn't find out that very evening who the Pimpernel is." A slight sob shook Marguerite and she lost her hold on herself. "What choice did I have, Andrew? I didn't know that Percy was the Pimpernel! I couldn't let Armand die!" she sobbed as she buried her head in Andrew's chest.

"Hush, hush. It's alright." He said as he drew Marguerite closer to him in an attempt to comfort his leader's wife. "I understand. Now, what happened?"

"Armand told me that Percy is the Pimpernel."

"And you told Chauvelin?"

Marguerite stiffened and began to cry freely. "Yes. Oh God! I'm sorry Andrew! I…I…"

Andrew's arms tightened around her slender form. "I'm not angry with you, Marguerite. Do you understand?" She nodded slightly and he asked, "Why did you tell Chauvelin?"

"I didn't mean to." She said between sobs. "But Chauvelin is very good at pulling information out of people. That's why he is the top agent in France."

Andrew tried to make sense of what the unfortunate woman had told him, but all he got out of what she said was that they were in a huge amount of trouble and that was very, very bad. "Marguerite, can you tell me where Armand is?"

She vigorously nodded. "He's being held in the prison directly south of the Place de la Greve. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes. Thank you." Andrew rose and prepared to leave to meet Tony and Percy, thankfully not empty-handed. "Marguerite, I believe that you can render the League a great service."

Marguerite jumped at the thought of being able to aid her beloved husband and quickly asked, "What do you wish of me? I'll do anything to help Percy."

"Now that Chauvelin knows who Percy is, we are in a great deal of danger. In orderfor us to successfully get you and Armand out of France, we need to know all we can about Chauvelin. Marguerite, find out who knows about Percy, any weaknesses in Chauvelin's forces. Most importantly, try to discover something that can deal a large amount of damage to Chauvelin. Weaknesses, faults, anything. The man cannot be invincible."

"Yes, of course. I'll do whatever I can."

Andrew smiled at Marguerite's enthusiasm to help the League. "Good girl. We'll come for you after we formulate a decent plan." He bowed and walked out of the small room.

"Andrew, wait!" she cried as she rushed out to the man.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" Andrew politely asked.

She gently held his hand in her own trembling one. "Will you take me to Percy?" she asked, her voice quivering with emotion.

Andrew smiled sadly and shook his head. "Not tonight, Madame. We have quite a bit of planning to do. However, meet me here this time tomorrow and I'll take you to see him."

Marguerite's eyes lit up with undiluted joy and she threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank you, Andrew! Thank you!"

Andrew couldn't help smiling; the girl was positively glowing. "Think nothing of it." He said as he brought her hand to his lips. "I shall see you tomorrow." With that, Andrew left the inn to meet with his companions.

* * *

Percy stood before the law offices of the Agent Chauvelin and smiled slightly to himself. He was almost positive that the agent was inside. He was so close to discovering all he needed to save Armand and find his perfect, beautiful wife. All he needed to do was play Chauvelin the right way, and that was easy. 

He opened the door and stepped into the room where Degas sat and worked. Pulling down his jacket, he walked up to the desk and cleared his throat to announce his presence. Without looking up, Degas unemotionally stated, "Go in. Chauvelin is expecting you."

Percy was slightly taken aback. He had arrived just that afternoon and entered the city unnoticed; how had he known that he was in France? Brushing away his concerns, he muttered his thanks to Degas and entered Chauvelin's personal office.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he walked into the room and nervously looked around; Chauvelin was nowhere in sight. The door suddenly slammed shut, and before Percy could spin around, two strong hands clamped down on his arms and a deep, silken voice whispered in his ear, "Good afternoon, Belgian."

Percy nodded his head and, in a trembling voice, answered "Citizen."

"What have you for me?"

"Nothing on the identity of the Pimpernel." He responded in a thick, Belgian accent. "However, Marguerite Blakeney is here in France."

Chauvelin's hands tightened around Percy's arms and he pulled him against his body. "You think I don't know that?" he angrily growled. "Useless man. Besides nothing, what can you tell me? You have been gone for over a month. I expect more then ignorance from my spies after such a period of time."

"I have only information regarding Marguerite, Citizen."

Chauvelin pushed the spy into the center of the room. "Tell me."

Percy was furious, but he hid that well under the guise of the Belgian. How dare that snake even ask about his wife! "She said that you blackmailed her to denounce St. Cyr."

"What of it?" Chauvelin snapped.

"Nothing, nothing." Percy frivolously said. "Just repeating what I heard."

Long, slender fingers rested on Chauvelin's shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles of his back and upper arms. "You're tense, Chauvelin. Why?" the young Chauvelin gently whispered in his ear. "Relax. He's a dead man. Toy with him. Have some fun." Chauvelin loosened up almost instantaneously and a slight smile slid over his face.

"She also said that you and she were once lovers." The Belgian continued.

"Tell me, Grappin," Chauvelin said nearly kindly, "how are she and her husband faring?"

"Her husband knows about your little affair with his wife, Chauvelin." Percy said with a slight hint of anger and jealously.

"Oh? And?" he asked completely indifferently.

"He doesn't care!" Percy replied defiantly. "He loves her even more then ever!"

Chauvelin began softly laughing. "Oh, that's really too bad for him."

"What?" Percy asked rather surprised and caught completely off guard. "Why is that?"

"Now now, Belgian." Chauvelin scolded. "It's my job to ask the questions.

Percy quickly resumed his calm demeanor. "Yes, of course, Citizen."

"She is beautiful, is she not?" Chauvelin asked dreamily asked.

Percy nodded suspiciously nodded. "That she is, Citizen."

"Yes…Marguerite." Chauvelin sighed in absolute bliss. "Lovely Marguerite. Perfect, heavenly Marguerite."

"Citizen," Percy nervously interrupted, "I know that we could go on all day about Lady Blakeney, but may we take care of business first?"

Percy's words eluded Chauvelin completely; the agent at that moment did not exist in the same room as the Englishman. "She is an amazing lover." He purred as he flushed and his breath quickened. "Were you aware of that, Belgian?"

"Citizen, please!" Percy shouted in exasperation. "Can we please just-"

Chauvelin's eyes slid out of focus. He knew the spy was talking, but he couldn't hear a word. All he could hear was the silken voice of the boy whisper in his ear "Enough games, Chauvelin. Kill him."

"-ite Blakeney." Percy concluded, now completely out of breath.

"Yes." Chauvelin quietly said to himself. "Blakeney. What can you tell me, Grappin, about Sir Percy Blakeney?"

Percy blinked in surprise. Where had that question come from? Had he not been listening to a word he said? "Blakeney?" Percy asked quietly. "What is it you want to know?"

Young Chauvelin cupped the agent's cheek in one hand and gently stroked his hair with the other. "Learn what you can. His usefulness has nearly expired."

Chauvelin shivered; the boy's hands were freezing and his words instantaneously intoxicated him. He looked directly into the Belgian's eyes and whispered "Everything. Tell me everything."

Percy's breath caught in his throat; the agent's eyes were completely glazed over. He felt the air grow heavier and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Something was horribly wrong, but he couldn't place what it was. He had to get out of there as quickly as possible. Taking a deep breath and standing up to his full height, he strongly proclaimed, "Percy Blakeney is a fool. An absolute fop at his best."

"Oh?" Chauvelin smoothly whispered. "Very well." He turned away from the Belgian and slowly walked towards the door.

"Kill him." the child whispered.

"Do I have your leave, Citizen?" Percy asked cautiously.

"Now, Citizen." The boy sternly said.

"Ah, Grappin?" Chauvelin purred.

"Yes?"

"Kill him, Chauvelin!"

Percy's ears filled with thunder and his eyes widened as he felt a searing pain just above his navel. He brought a trembling hand to his stomach and felt a warm, thick liquid quickly running over his hand and down his body. All the strength was suddenly sapped from him and he sank to his knees. His vision slid in and out of focus as he looked up at the agent standing before him reloading a pistol he held in his hand. The edges of Percy's vision began to fade to black and he became light-headed as his breathing slowed and became very shallow.

Something pressed on the low of his back and easily forced him to the ground. Percy made an attempt to push himself up, but his hand slipped on the blood that covered the floor and he fell back down.

He gasped for breath and softly moaned as long fingers ran across his cheek and neck. "You must forgive me, Grappin," Chauvelin gently whispered to the dying man as he pressed the barrel of the gun to Percy's upper back, "but you have outlived your usefulness."

A second shot rang out through the room and the little movement that the spy had been making ceased immediately. Chauvelin rose and, with a final glance at the still figure on the floor, he left the room.

* * *

Andrew entered the designated meeting place just as the clock struck six. "Excellent timing, Andrew. Very stylish." Tony called from the table he was sitting at. "Had you arrived a second later, I would have had to have a talk with Percy about you, and then he would have to give you a lecture on the importance of punctuality." 

"Then I shall have to be thankful that I arrived when I did." Andrew said, laughing as he joined his friend at the table. "Is Percy here yet?"

Tony shook his head. "Not yet. Give him some time. He'll be here."

"Should we wait for him to discuss what we found?"

Tony leaned back and thought for a moment before responding "It couldn't hurt to talk things over now and organize our thoughts. Did you find anything?"

"I'll say." Andrew said cheerfully. "I found Marguerite."

Tony's face darkened. "You saw Marguerite?" he asked sternly.

"Hey, lighten up. I thought that was a good thing." Andrew said defensively and slightly surprised at his friend's reaction.

"Yes, I suppose so." Tony said bitterly. "Did you speak to her?"

"Yes. She told me everything we need to know." Andrew said a bit sadly.

"What did she say?"

"She came here looking for Armand and was captured by Chauvelin. He blackmailed her into his service, and now she and Chauvelin know that Percy is the Pimpernel."

"He blackmailed her?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Yes. He said he would kill Armand if she failed to obtain the name of the Pimpernel."

Tony laughed bitterly. "Did you ever consider the notion that she was lying to you?"

"What?"

"I talked to Armand, Andrew." Tony said seriously. "He told me that she is in love with Chauvelin."

Andrew stared at his friend in disbelief. "That's impossible!" he shouted. "She loves Percy! You should have seen how worried she was for his safety, and how she perfectly shined when I told her that he was fine!"

"She's an actress, Andrew." Tony said sternly. "It is her job to make people believe what is not true."

"How can you be sure that she's not acting that she's in love with Chauvelin?" Andrew asked outraged.

"Why would she act something like that? It would only hurt her." Tony leaned over and laid his hand on his friend's clenched one. "Think about it, friend. She loves him. She told him the name of the Pimpernel. If she is truly spying for him, it is completely logical for her to act like she loves Percy. Think of how easy it would be for her to get to him if she did."

Andrew's face lost all of its color. Everything slid into place; it all made sense. "What a fool I was to believe her! What's going to happen to Percy when he finds out?" Andrew said under his breath. "He's going to die, Tony. You know how he is. He can't live without her."

"I know, I know, but what can we do? He has to know or he will fall to the Guillotine."

Andrew nodded slowly; he knew Tony was right. He cast a glance at the clock and immediately snapped out of his depression and jumped out of his chair. "Where's Percy, Tony?" he shouted.

"What?" Tony was taken aback by his friend's sudden outburst. "I don't know. Why?"

"It's seven o'clock, Tony." Andrew snapped. "He should have been here an hour ago."

Sudden panic gripped Tony. He quickly pushed himself out of his chair. "Come on. We're going to go look for him. Something must have happened."

Just as Tony and Andrew were about to leave, the door slowly opened and Percy stumbled inside and clung to a nearby chair. His breathing was shallow but labored, and he was in a cold sweat. He kept his eyes cast down at the ground and swayed slightly, shaking terribly.

"Percy, are you alright?" Tony asked with tremendous concern.

"You8 don't look so well, Percy." Andrew said as he went to support his friend, but when he stood two feet before his leader, he recoiled and cried out in horror.

"What? What is it?" Tony cried as he ran forward. "What…Oh my God…" Tony said under his breath as he saw that Percy stood in a small pool of blood that was growing larger by the second.

Percy raised his head and looked at his friends with glazed-over eyes. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp as he fell forward.

Tony and Andrew caught their leader just before he hit the floor. "Percy!" Andrew screamed as he gently lowered his leader to the floor and rested Percy's head upon his lap.

"Percy! Percy! Speak to us!" cried Tony as he rolled him on to his back. "My God…" Tony gasped as he caught sight of the profusely bleeding hole in the daring Pimpernel's abdomen

"Percy! Percy! Please, I beg of you, say something!" Andrew shouted, tears choking his words.

Percy slid his eyes open slightly and tried to focus on something, anything, but his vision would not allow it. His sight was horribly blurred and the darkness at the edges of his vision was quickly closing in on the rest of his limited sight.

Stirring slightly, he stiffened and weakly gasped "Marguerite…" before going limp. Everything went black, and then there was nothing.


	6. With Just a Touch, You Overcome Me

**Hey everybody! First I'd like to thank the people who have reviewed this little tid bit of mine. The reviews really help me keep writing this. So, here's the next chapter. So sorry to keep you hanging like that in the last chapter. That was kind of mean. This chapter I'm using as a sort of regrouping time for our hero/baddie teams, so I'm saying sorry in advance for the lack of action in this chapter, but these guys need a break before I throw them into hell. So, please review. And I am open to ideas from you guys if you really want to see something happen. Nothing is set in stone at this point. So If you have any ideas, you can leave them in a review, or you can contact me by e-mail. My address is on my profile page. And that's that. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: (To be sung ot the tune of I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserables) I dreamed a dream in times gone by, when the rights to Pimpernel were mine. But they're not, and I am sad, so one day I may go insane.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter Six: With Just a Touch, You Overcome Me**

The world could have ended right then and there, and Lady Marguerite Blakeney would not have known or cared. The girl was walking on air as if the pavement simply did not exist. Her husband was well and she would see her beloved the very next day. She had never felt such joy. In the midst of her despair, Heaven had sent her an angel to make right all that had been wrong. Percy, the Scarlet Pimpernel, was in France at this very moment thinking of a way to save Armand and get her and her brother safely back to England.

She sighed happily as she went gliding down the street; soon Percy would come and sweep her off her feet and bring her home to him. She resolved that from the moment they were reunited, she would never leave his side again.

Marguerite suddenly came crashing back to the ground as she looked across the street at the large crowd that stood outside Chauvelin's offices. Driven by curiosity at the cause of such a commotion, she crossed the street and pushed her way through the throngs of people. Standing at the front of the mob was a small division of soldiers trying in vain to divert the attentions of the group and get them to leave the scene.

"Mademoiselle St. Just!" Marguerite's head shot up and looked around to try and find the man that had called for her and instantly recognized the face of one of the soldiers. "Mercier! What's going on?"

He grabbed her hand and led her past the line of soldiers and into the building. "Something has happened to Chauvelin that I think you should know about."

Marguerite's eyes widened in terror as she glanced around the room; there was blood everywhere: pools on the floor, large smears of it on the walls and generally everywhere else. She swallowed in an attempt to clear her dry throat and, shaking horribly, asked, "What happened? Is he alright?"

Mercier opened the door to Chauvelin's office and herded Marguerite inside. "Chauvelin is fine, mademoiselle," he reassured, "but his Belgian spy is less then well."

They stepped into the room and Marguerite saw Coupeau kneeling before a man she did not recognize seated at Chauvelin's desk. "Have you heard anything of Chauvelin's insanity, mademoiselle?"

"Briefly, yes." She replied nearly too stunned to speak.

"It's worse then I previously mentioned to you, Madame." Coupeau said as he rose to meet the actress.

"You are Chauvelin's lover?" the seated man asked as he looked at the woman with tired, bored eyes.

Marguerite slowly nodded, for she found herself at a loss for words. Chauvelin insane? She hadn't noticed any change in him.

The man rose from the chair and approached the stunned woman. "I am Degas, Chauvelin's personal aide and secretary. I hardly wish to frighten you, Madame, but as his lover, I believe you should know about his current mental state."

"You know what is happening?" Marguerite asked quietly.

Degas nodded curtly. "More then anyone else. Perhaps you should sit down, milady." She nodded absently and sat down in a vacant chair. "If I may ask a personal question before I begin, mademoiselle…"

"Yes. Of course." Marguerite automatically replied.

"How has he been with you, Madame? He hasn't been rough, or…"

She flushed slightly and cut the man off by quickly shaking her head. "No. No, nothing like that. He's been nothing but gentle and terribly sweet."

Degas looked at her curiously as if he had been expecting a different response. "Interesting…" he slowly whispered. "But never mind that. Your lover has gone mad, Madame. I cannot tell you how or why, but somehow he was robbed of his sanity."

"But how can you be sure?" Marguerite cried.

"Because, Madame," Degas whispered as he brought himself to her eye level, "no sane man can slaughter twenty innocents and not think twice about it."

Marguerite involuntarily shivered; what the man said was simply impossible. She opened her mouth to speak, but Degas interrupted her.

"You don't believe me, do you? It is of course difficult for you to find truth in the situation, but if you will allow me to tell you what I can without interruption, perhaps I can open your eyes to Chauvelin's current predicament."

Marguerite slowly nodded and granted Degas her full attention. "The first change we noticed in Agent Chauvelin was that he had become unpredictably and excessively violent."

Degas shrugged indifferently. "I must confess, this normally would not surprise me. Chauvelin is impulsive and fierce by nature. What really shook me was his frame of mind. Coupeau informed me that when Chauvelin turned on him, he handled himself with absolute calm."

Degas looked toward the ceiling and took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "I also recall that when he beat me, he was nearly serene, and when he spoke, I swear upon my life that he was apologetic, like he was truly sorry for what he had done. I learned early this morning from a maid that worked in a small countryside inn that he massacred all the inhabitants on the bottom floor. She said that all the bodies save for one were too badly mutilated to be recognized by anyone."

Marguerite paled significantly and gasped in horror at the image. She was shaking horribly and had to turn away form the man in order to keep her composure.

"This also would have no profound effect on me had the woman not mentioned that upon leaving, Chauvelin had treated her with the utmost gallantry and charm. No man in his right mind can commit such a horrible murder and not ten minutes later act as if nothing had happened. Aside from his violent impulses, the man has been speaking to inanimate objects and people that do not exist. Last night, he was speaking and singing to the Guillotine and, as rumor has it, he slit his hand and covered the blade with his own blood. I can personally attest to the fact that he is speaking to and taking orders from an apparition that his mind has created. And this very evening, he shot his spy for no reason that is apparent to any of us."

Degas took Marguerite's hands in his own and brought her out of the chair. "I have nothing else I can tell you, milady," he gently said, "but the belief in my words rests with you. However, whether you trust me or not, I caution you to tread carefully around your lover. From what you said about how he treats you, I doubt he will harm you, but please Madame, do be careful."

"Yes. Thank you for your concern, Citizen. I shall be careful." Marguerite looked into Degas' face with eyes brimming with tears. "Chauvelin really is insane, isn't he?"

Degas nodded. "Yes, I believe so, milady. His actions cannot be otherwise explained."

Marguerite turned her gaze to the floor. "Thank you for everything, Degas. It is important for me to know this."

"Think nothing of it, mademoiselle. But I'm sure you must be going. It's getting late and no doubt Chauvelin awaits your company." he said gently as he led her by the arm to the front door.

"Yes, I'm sure he is." she whispered sadly.

Degas opened the door and quietly said "Be careful, Marguerite."

She nodded as she exited the building and walked quickly down the street. Her head was spinning. She had to end her affair with Chauvelin, not because he was crazy, but because she loved Percy too much not to. However, breaking up with the man frightened her. The end of their first relationship had been particularly nasty, and now that the man was certifiably insane, and violently so, she was afraid of how he would react.

She was also at a loss at how to go about telling him that it was over between them. She simply couldn't tell him that she was returning to her husband to be a good wife. Chauvelin knew that Percy was the Pimpernel; he could not know about Percy's presence in France or he was certain to kill her beloved husband.

Marguerite grabbed her head in frustration; she needed a plan. Tonight, she would push Chauvelin out of her life, and she silently swore to herself that he would not lure her back in; that was the least she could do for Percy.

* * *

His coat, vest, and shirt were hastily and carelessly thrown upon the floor, and the Agent Chauvelin frantically paced about his flat in total darkness. His yellow eyes quickly darted about the room and his breathing was heavy and trembling; someone was watching him. He knew someone was there. 

He quickly spun around to face what he could have sworn was the footfall of the unseen trespasser. No one was there. A sudden panic gripped him and he could not breathe. Why couldn't he find the fiend that watched him?

He fixed a vice-like grip on the edge of a nearby table and made a futile attempt to calm down; with each passing second, his paranoia grew. A soft, barley audible voice whispered through the dark and Chauvelin quickly turned to face the source of the noise.

His blood instantly ran cold and the air froze as he found himself looking into a pair of glowing yellow eyes that gazed at him from the dark of the room. "Chauvelin, you're panicking. What has you so worried?" the gentle voice said as the eyes moved into the moonlight that came through the window and reflected off the alabaster skin of the young Chauvelin.

"Someone is in here. I don't know where, but I know someone's here!" Chauvelin cried in near hysteria.

"Chauvelin." The boy whispered as he walked toward the agent.

"Why are they following me?" the panicking man shouted.

"Calm down! Get a hold of yourself!" the child snapped as he laid his hand on the older man's shoulder.

Chauvelin felt his strength instantly leave him the instant the child touched him. A sudden anemia washed over him and he sank to his knees before the dominant boy.

The young Chauvelin wrapped his arms around the agent's shoulders and drew him against his body. "There is no one here but you and I, Chauvelin." He gently said. "Do you understand me? Just the two of us."

The agent's eyes grew heavy and he leaned against the child as the boy's words became his thoughts and everything else in his mind was banished.

"Come, Chauvelin." The child smoothly whispered. "We have business to discuss." He released the agent and brought him to his feet, for the man had lost the ability to function without the lead of the child. "Did you know, Chauvelin, that the people of France believe you to be insane?" the boy said as he seated himself on the couch.

The agent suddenly became dizzy and nauseous and dropped to his knees once again. Young Chauvelin drew the man's head into his lap and gently ran his hands through the agent's hair, and Chauvelin's breath quickened and he was shivering uncontrollably. The boy lowered his head to the agent's ear and softly whispered, "What do you believe to be true?"

"I don't know." He quietly said as he desperately tried to fight the chill that was creeping up his body as one of the boy's hands ran down his bare back.

"Why not?"

"I can't remember anything." Chauvelin whispered as his voice trembled and fought the urge to weep.

The boy drew Chauvelin closer and softly said, "Let me lead you. Trust in me, Chauvelin, and I shall show you the truth." Chauvelin felt himself grow weak as the younger man dominated his every thought. "Do you believe the people of France, Chauvelin?"

"I trust in only you." Chauvelin hypnotically replied.

"The world has gone mad, Chauvelin. You are not insane, you're above them all." The boy shrugged slightly before passionlessly saying "They don't understand you, so they call you crazy." Chauvelin immediately relaxed and the nausea lifted as the child reordered his thoughts.

"On a different subject, Chauvelin, your dealings with the Belgian were haphazard at best." the child coldly said. "He didn't die in your office as you intended and he managed to walk out of there. Half of Paris knows about it and now it's a huge mess. You're going to have to correct that blunder of yours first thing in the morning."

Chauvelin's head shot up at the boy's words. "The Belgian is alive?" he asked in absolute shock.

The boy dismissively waved his hand in the air. "No no. The man is dead. But mind you, he died three blocks away and two hours later then he was meant to." Young Chauvelin's eyes narrowed and an evil smile marked his face. "You need to fix the people of Paris. They're spreading rumors, lies about you. This cannot be allowed to continue. The insolent masses must be silenced.

The agent looked into the child's eyes with absolute obedience and admiration. "How? What do you want me to do?"

The boy shrugged slightly. "Scare them. You're awfully good at instilling fear and implementing scare tactics. Do what you must." he said almost flippantly.

"Yes. Of course." Chauvelin said as he started to rise, but the child reached out and brought the agent back down to the ground.

"I'm not done with you yet, Citizen." The child said coldly. "You said you don't remember anything. Elaborate on that."

"I don't know. I don't remember much."

"What do you recall?" the child asked curiously.

"I remember today." he said impassively.

"And yesterday?"

Chauvelin slowly shook his head. "Very little."

"What is it you do remember?"

The agent closed his eyes and searched his memory, but all he saw was black. He simply could not remember anything before this child came into his life. The meeting with Robespierre, that was the first thing he remembered. The Pimpernel, they had discussed him, Percy Blakeney.

Chauvelin's eyes shot open as the name tried desperately to connect with a memory he no longer possessed. Blakeney. Blakeney. He had a wife. That was it. Marguerite. He remembered her, nothing more. But he needed nothing else. Marguerite, her silver voice, her delicate, long limbs, the clear blue eyes, the woman of absolute perfection. He remembered the previous night, when she had confessed she loved him, and the heated passion that they shared. "Marguerite." He gently whispered. "I remember Marguerite."

The young Chauvelin sneered at the man at his feet. "Ah, yes. Of course. The girl. She is unimportant, Chauvelin. Forget her."

The agent looked up at the child with shock and betrayal. "Forget her?" he said in disbelief. "How can I forget her? She is all I remember! Without her, I have nothing!"

"Chauvelin, listen to me." the child said sternly.

"Please." Chauvelin begged as he clung to the leg of the boy's pants. "Please. Don't ask me to forget her. She is my life, my everything. I love her." Chauvelin leaned his head against the child's knee as he trembled uncontrollably and fought tears. "I love her. I lost her once and nearly died. Please, don't make me lose her again, or I swear I won't live another day."

The boy cupped Chauvelin's chin and forced the agent to look into his eyes. "You need this woman that badly?"

"I need her as I need the air I breathe."

"Very well." He released the man as he stood and walked to the window. "God forbid I ever become a slave to a woman as you have become."

"Armand." Chauvelin whispered from the floor. "Don't make me kill again."

The boy spun around and glared at the trembling man. "And why not?"

"I'm afraid to lose her. I cannot go to her with blood on my hands. That's what drove her away the first time."

The young Chauvelin quickly strode toward the agent and wrapped his fingers around his hair. "You're allowing this woman to make you weak."

"I need her."

"Would it be any comfort to you if I told you that she will not leave you?"

Chauvelin's breath caught in his throat. If what the boy said was true, then his life would be complete and he would finally be whole again. "How-"

The child's hands tightened around his hair and he fell silent. "No matter what you do, Chauvelin, Marguerite St. Just will not leave you. She cannot. You have already assured that. She is bound to you, and though she may threaten to leave you, she will not. Do you understand?"

The agent nodded as much as the child's grip allowed and let the words sink in; Marguerite was his, and that would not change.

"Just remember, Chauvelin." The boy coldly said before pulling the man's head back, reveling in a gasp of pain from the agent. "You belong to me. You do whatever I say without question. Your life is mine to do whatever I wish with it. Is that clear, boy?" The young Chauvelin pulled the agent's head back further, earning a scream of pain that the child took as an affirmative answer.

He pushed the older man to the ground and took up his place by the window once again and smiled slightly to himself. He now possessed a very violent and completely obedient entity to do his bidding in this world he could not touch. Let Paris rest peacefully tonight, for tomorrow, he would unleash a demon.

* * *

As a testament to the man's strength, Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, somehow managed to pull himself from the brink of death. Though he wavered in and out of consciousness, he was certainly living and it seemed as though he would stay that way for the time being. As he opened his eyes after he didn't know how long, he found himself in a room he did not recognize. He stirred slightly and gasped as a shot of pain ran through his body. 

"You might want to lay still, Percy. It will be far less painful." Percy looked over and saw his good friend Tony sitting beside him.

He grimaced slightly before weakly saying "He shot me! That bastard shot me!" Despite his current circumstance, Percy still somehow managed to sound flippant which managed to get a few chuckles from his incredibly tense and worried friend.

"Who shot you?" Tony asked as calmly as he could.

"Chauvelin. It's apparent that no one taught Mon-sewer Shovelin that it's in terribly bad practice to shoot one's guests." Despite his friend's urging, he propped himself up on his elbows and leaned against the headboard of the bed so he sat up slightly. "Is it too much to ask where I am, Tony?"

"Not at all." Tony gently replied. "We're occupying one of the rooms of the inn next to our designated meeting place. There's a doctor outside who has been treating you half the evening."

"He says it's a miracle you survived, Percy." Andrew said as he walked into the room to join his leader. "But I said to him 'No sir! Nincompoops like him are demned impossible to kill'."

"Well said, man!" Percy said as loud as his injury would allow as he applauded. "Now, if one of you would fetch the brandy, that would be splendid. This pain is demned intolerable. Come now, we'll make a party of it, what?"

"I'll have the innkeeper bring some up." Tony said as he rose and left the room.

Andrew knelt beside his leader and quietly asked "How are you, Percy?"

"As well as one can be expected after being shot in the gut." He lifted his hand to his bandaged stomach and gently felt around the small hole. "It's not infected, is it?" he softly asked as he gingerly examined the wound.

"No, the doctor says that it will be fine, but it is still bleeding quite a bit."

"And how about the one on my back?"

Andrew smiled broadly. "That shot missed anything vital. The bullet lodged itself in muscle and went no further."

"Well, that's good to know." Slight concern crossed the Pimpernel's face. "How have you been, Andrew?"

"Worried sick about you, Percy." Andrew said fighting tears. "I thought you were dead."

Percy laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's alright. I hadn't planned on dying today, and it would be damned bad practice to do something out of schedule."

Tony walked back in with the promised brandy and took his seat by the Pimpernel. Percy took a long drink from the decanter before saying "If you don't mind, boys, I'd like to discuss our business. Have either of you heard anything of Armand?"

"More then that, Percy." Tony proudly declared. "I have spoken to him."

"What?" the Pimpernel asked in surprise. "Is he well? Where is he?"

Don't worry about Armand. He's alive and well, bet he's anxious to get out."

"Then we shall have to comply with the good man's request!" Percy triumphantly declared. "What is the security around his cell like?"

"He's not well guarded, Percy. Getting him out should be no trouble at all."

"Ah! Most excellent!" Calming down a bit, Percy quietly asked "And Marguerite? Have you heard any word of her?"

Tony couldn't help feeling horribly guilty at the mention of the Pimpernel's wife and he looked nervously at the floor. Sudden panic gripped Percy at the sight of his friend's expression, and just as he was about to inquire into what he was sure was bad news about his angel, Andrew interjected. "I have seen her, Percy."

The daring Pimpernel immediately forgot his worries. "How did she look? Is she well? Did you speak to her?" he rapidly and excitedly questioned.

"I only spoke to her briefly, but she seemed well enough." Andrew replied with a touch of melancholy in his voice.

Percy, though, was far too elated to catch the sorrowful demeanor of his friend. Whether it was the alcohol of the undiluted joy, Percy forgot his pain and bounced slightly on the bed. "What did my angel say?" he cried in exaltation.

"Very little, but she misses you and I promised to bring her to see you tomorrow." Andrew said slowly, regretting each word he was obligated to tell his leader.

Percy's soul took flight. "Tomorrow! I'll see my love tomorrow! Marguerite." He sighed as his head hit the headboard with a thud. "My angel, my life! It will be such a toil to wait to see you. How can I live another moment without you, Marguerite? You are the very air I breathe, the bright star, my goddess!"

Tony and Andrew looked at each other with pained expressions; after seeing Percy happier than they had ever seen him before, neither man had the heart to tell their esteemed leader what they knew to be the truth about his wife.

"Percy," Tony said solemnly, "we have something more important then Marguerite to discuss."

"What could possibly be more important then my beloved, the flame of my soul!" Percy cried, oblivious to his friend's dire manner.

"Percy, Chauvelin knows you're the Pimpernel!" Tony shouted.

Percy's elation immediately vanished and disbelief and desperation took its place. Finally finding the ability to speak, he slowly, quietly asked, "What did you say?"

Tony inhaled deeply before slowly saying, "He knows you're the Pimpernel."

Percy sat there in absolute shock. His entire body was numb and cold; even the dull, throbbing pain in his back and stomach dissipated. "How did he find out?"

"We don't know." Andrew said hesitantly. "Chauvelin's a smart man. You know that. He must have figured it out."

Percy sat in silence for a long while. This was bad. Very, very bad. He took a deep breath to allow the words of his friend to sink in and slowly said, "If what you say is true, we have lost our greatest assets, stealth and time." He took another deep breath and addressed his friends again, this time with resolution. "Time is no longer on our side. We must get out of France as soon as it's conceivably possible. How soon can we rescue Armand?"

"We can do it first thing in the morning, Percy." Tony assured his leader.

"Good. We must act without delay. Andrew, what time are you to meet with Marguerite?"

"At about five o'clock."

"Very well. Be prepared to leave for England tomorrow afternoon. I would imagine that word of Armand's sudden disappearance will draw his sister out. Try to find her as quickly as possible. The sooner we leave Paris, the better."

The two men nodded in obedience and left the room to allow their fearless leader the chance to rest and recover.

Percy closed his eyes and sighed happily as he smiled to himself. Despite this unfortunate turn of events, he was strangely at peace with the world. Tomorrow he would return home to England with the woman he loved and he would make damned sure that she knew how much she meant to him. Nothing else mattered. With this in mind, Percy drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Marguerite stood outside Chauvelin's flat, clenching and unclenching her fists in an attempt to calm down. These next moments that awaited her would be her last of her time with the man. As of tonight, their love affair would be over, but she was still anxiety-ridden about how it would all fare. 

Keeping her mind on the task at hand, she allowed only four things to run through her thoughts: she and Percy love each other, tonight she would push her lover out of her life for good, Chauvelin was stricken with madness, and he would not harm her. Resolving herself on what she knew she must do, she opened the door and walked into the room.

She slowly closed the door behind her and was left in total darkness, save for the light of the moon coming through the window. She held her breath and listened carefully as she gazed into the darkness, but heard and saw nothing. She gently called for her lover, but was met with no response. Perhaps he wasn't home yet.

She walked further into the room and looked for a light. As she shifted through some papers on a table, long, nearly feminine fingers rested under her chin and gently lifted her head up. She would have screamed, but as her eyes met with those passionate gold ones, her voice died in her throat.

"Good evening, my darling." he smoothly whispered as he leaned into her and tenderly kissed the lovely woman.

Marguerite's eyes slowly slid closed as she became lost in Chauvelin's touch. Chauvelin. Suddenly remembering the task she had to accomplish for Percy's sake, she pulled away from the man and walked away from him. "Chauvelin, this isn't right. We can't go on like this."

"Why not?" he gently asked as he came up behind her and pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck.

Marguerite flushed, but kept her composure and resolution. "Because, Chauvelin, I-"

"Do you love me, Marguerite?" he quietly interrupted.

The young French woman tensed and immediately made an attempt to cover the feelings she did have for the agent. "N-No. I don't." she hesitantly stuttered as she pulled away from him once again. "I thought I did, but I found that I don't anymore."

Chauvelin gazed at her with a broken stare. "Why, Marguerite?" he asked pitifully in a voice on the verge of tears.

"Because I have lost you to madness, Chauvelin!" she cried. "They say that you have slaughtered innocent people, and…and-"

Her impassioned speech was cut short by the agent's harsh, bitter laughter. "And you believe this erroneous gossip?" he snidely asked. "I thought you were above those credulous nonentities."

"Why would they say such thing with such a degree of urgency if it was untrue?" she countered.

"My dear Marguerite." he smoothly drawled as his entire disposition softened significantly. "You know how the people make a sport out of spreading rumors about influential public figures. If you would remember that particular bit of gossip that went around about two months ago. The people had even the court of England convinced that the only reason that Louis XVI still lived was because Robespierre had taken him as his lover. That bit of misinformation spread like wildfire on both sides of the channel."

"But Degas said-"

"Degas told you I was insane?" Chauvelin laughed slightly before saying "Degas, Madame, is a paranoid schizophrenic. The man can hardly distinguish between reality and his mind's delusions."

Marguerite was terribly flustered; everything Chauvelin was saying conflicted with what she had recently believed to be the truth. Now, she wasn't sure about anything. "How do I know whom to believe?" she quietly asked.

He slowly walked towards her and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Look at me, Margot." He gently said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her against him. "The only madness I possess is my love for you. And are the states of being insane and being desperately in love not synonymous?"

"You love me?" she whispered in shock. "You truly love me?"

"Had you not sensed this before, my angel?"

"Well, yes, it's just that…" She sighed happily and rested her head against his chest. "This is the first time that you have told me that you love me."

Chauvelin gently laid his head upon hers and softly whispered "I was a fool not to tell you sooner."

Marguerite gradually relaxed as she felt herself becoming lost in the man's embrace. This was all she really ever wanted; to be loved and cared for by a man who she loved as well. How long had it been since Percy had told her that he loved her? Percy. She regained her senses and found herself in the embrace of a man that was most defiantly not her husband. She quickly pushed away from the agent and turned her back to him. "It's over between us, Chauvelin. Do you understand?" she hissed nearly cruelly.

"No. I don't." he sadly whispered as he approached the woman from behind. "You have yet to offer an explanation. I feel I have a right to know what I have done to lose you yet again."

"It's nothing you have done. I just don't love you anymore." she said in a trembling voice.

"You're lying to yourself, Marguerite."

"So what!" she cried as she spun to face him. "If I tell myself I don't love you, maybe I'll come to believe it and then it will become the truth!" Her voice broke and lost all of its previous defiance as she began to weep. "Then maybe I'll finally be able to forget you."

"My Margot." he whispered as he drew her back to him and tenderly kissed the tears that stained her cheeks. "You know how I hate to see you cry."

"What are you doing to me, Chauvelin?" she quietly sobbed. "Why do I love you?"

"My love." The agent whispered as he took her hand in his and knelt before her. "I cannot bear to see you unhappy like this, and I'm willing to let you go and leave me forever if that would bring back the blithe young girl I know. But before you go, I beseech you, allow me to tell you what I should have said when I first met you."

Marguerite nodded slightly and he took a deep breath as he prepared to pour his heart out to this woman. "I was a fool to think that I could make you mine. A man like me does not deserve perfection. You are simply remarkable, Marguerite. My love, my life." He trembled as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it repeatedly. "You are my world, my everything. Things I once cared about no longer hold any importance to me. There is only you. Marguerite…"

He rose slightly as he left a trial of frantic kisses up her arm and to her shoulder when he stood behind her. "My heart belongs to you, Margot, and I don't think I can ever recover it. I am incomplete without you, darling." He gently wrappedhis arms around her waist and kissed her neck. "I love you, Marguerite. I will never love another. I cannot. I belong to you, and only you."

He drew in a shuddering breath as he pulled her even closer to him. "I want you. I need you. Margot, my heart and soul. I love you. I adore you. I worship the very ground you tread upon, the very air you breathe. I love you, Marguerite St. Just. I _love_ you."

Marguerite hung on to his every word, and even though she tried to cling to his image, Percy was slipping away into the darkness. By the time he had held her, she had forgotten her husband, and when he had finished speaking, Marguerite knew she was his.

Turning in his embrace, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Chauvelin reacted immediately to her passion, and it wasn't long before the two lovers allowed all control to slip as they forgot everything but each other.


	7. Not Now When Life Has Just Begun

**Hey hey! So, here we are with another chapter of this misery. Sorry it's so short, but they have been nailing me in school as of late. This is my League chapter. Rejoice! It's another slow one, but I promise that things will pick up in the next chapter. And please keep reviewing! I love you guys for it, and it really helps me get these things out quickly. And as they stand now, things still aren't set in stone. If you want something to happen, let me know about it. That's all. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: There's a lot of stuff that I don't own. The Scarlet Pimpernel is one of them.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 7: Not Now When Life Has Just Begun**

It was early in the morning when Tony and Andrew approached the prison in which Armand was being held. The two men had been slightly worried earlier about the quality of their rescue plans, but their fears were quickly diminished as they observed the nearly pitiful level of security.

"It's a good thing Percy didn't come with us." Andrew whispered to Tony. "He would have taken one look at the number of guards and decide that any form of plan is an insult to his genius. Then he'd start screwing with everyone and it would be a huge mess."

"Well, since Percy isn't here, we're just going to have to stick with the plan, if not for the need of it, for the fact that we're going to humiliate one of these poor sods."

"Ah yes. Very well." Andrew pulled on a tri-corner hat that completed his disguise. "Ready?"

"As always." Tony responded as he picked up a bayonet and the two men marched to the front gate to meet the sentinel.

As Tony and Andrew approached the gate, the guard sternly ordered, "State your business."

"Citizen," Tony said as he and Andrew saluted the soldier, "we have been sent ahead of our division to inform you that reinforcements for the sentinel will arrive within the hour."

The guard's eyes narrowed in minor anger and irritation. "We have enough soldiers, Citizen. We don't need your reinforcements."

"That may be so," Andrew said with disdain for the arrogant man before him, "but Citizen Danton, Citizen Robespierre, and Citizen Chauvelin do not share your opinion."

The young soldier's jaw dropped and he became incredibly pale as he realized that he had just unintentionally defied the most powerful men in France. "The committee sent you?" the guard quietly asked in a voice that shook with fear.

Tony and Andrew curtly nodded with cold, hard expressions on their faces. The soldier managed to swallow back some of his fear and stuttered, "Forgive me, Citizens. I did not mean to deny you access."

"Then you wouldn't mind to render us another service." Tony said harshly.

"Anything, Citizen."

"We need you to take us to the prisoner Armand St. Just."

The guard looked quizzically at Tony. "What for?"

Andrew glared harshly at the soldier. "You have already defied the committee once. I advise against denying us a second time."

"Unless, of course," Tony continued, "you wish to know Madame Guillotine personally."

"No, no! I…" the soldier tried to articulate as an intense panic gripped him. "Forgive me! I'll take you to him immediately."

Andrew and Tony looked at the young soldier in pity when he turned his back to them. The poor man was shaking so badly he continuously fumbled the keys and had a hell of a tine getting the lock open.

After about two minutes of an absolutely pitiful display on the part of the soldier, he finally managed to open the gate and quickly led Tony and Andrew into the depths of the prison. The young guide quickly opened the door to the room that housed Armand's cell, and ushered the men inside.

Armand on that particular morning was in significantly better spirits then Tony had seen him in the day before. On seeing Tony and Andrew, Armand's face lit up like the sun and he rushed to the bars. "Have you finally come to end my misery, pigs?" Armand said snidely, though his face was a perfect picture of absolute joy.

Andrew nodded and indifferently responded, "If that's what you wish."

The soldier closed the door behind him as he walked in and stood half a step behind Tony and Andrew. Armand saw this third soldier and quickly said in English "Hey you! Speak English!"

The young soldier looked around; he had no idea what the prisoner just said and tried in desperation to find the man that Citizen St. Just was speaking to.

"He doesn't understand, does he?" Armand asked brightly.

"No, I don't think so." Tony replied.

"So, what's the plan? You're here to get me out, right?"

Andrew waved his hand in the air. "Yes yes. Fear not. Just going to switch this poor sod for you and steal his clothing. Nothing unusual."

"Ah. So, how are you going to pull that off?"

The soldier looked back and forth between the prisoner and the two men. He didn't understand a word that was exchanged, which made him very uneasy. Something was going on that seemed terribly wrong.

"Watch this." Tony said slyly to Armand. "You, boy!" he barked in French. "Open his cell."

"What?" the soldier asked in terrible confusion.

"Do you not understand French, infidel?"

"The prisoner has been tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal and was found to be guilty. We take him to meet Madame Guillotine." Andrew said without emotion.

"Oh." The soldier walked to the door of Armand's cell and searched for the proper key. "What was he saying a moment ago?"

Tony smiled slyly and shot Andrew a quick glance before responding "He was a soldier of the Revolution in the early years of the Republic. He wishes to go to his death as a soldier rather then a prisoner."

"So, if you wouldn't mind too terribly," Andrew cut in, "to remove your uniform and hand it to the man, we will be on our way to lead this man to his execution."

By this time, the soldier had already opened Armand's cell and he stood gaping at the absurdity of the men's request. "Citizens, I can't just-"

"It's the man's final request." Tony interrupted. "We cannot deny a reasonable last request. Of course, if you wish to join him on the scaffold…"

"No, no! Not at all!" the young soldier replied as he began to remove his jacket.

Armand stood solemnly between Tony and Andrew at the soldier removed his uniform and he too began to shrug off his own clothing. "Merci, monsieur." Armand sadly said as the guard handed him the uniform. The young St. Just began to dress himself in the soldier's clothing and Andrew went and stood by the guard at the door of Armand's previous prison.

"Citizen?" the soldier asked Andrew as he looked up at the man with a pitiful look on his face. "Is this really necessary?"

"Absolutely." Andrew responded devoid of all emotion.

Armand finished dressing and stood up straight and tall. "I am ready, monsieur." He said solemnly.

"Very well. Let's go, men." Tony said and walked out of the room, followed closely by Armand. The guard started to follow, but the moment he moved, Andrew pushed him into the cell and locked the door. The soldier was too stunned to do anything but came to his senses very quickly as he saw Andrew start to walk out of the room with the keys. "Wait! Stop!"

"Hmm? How can I help you?" Andrew inquired as he turned slightly so he could look at the boy.

"You can't just leave me here!"

"Ah. My humblest apologies." Andrew quietly said as he tossed the keys in the furthermost corner of the room from the imprisoned soldier. Following the other League members, Andrew slammed the door behind him.

Not five minutes later, the three men had left the prison and were on their way to rejoin Percy at the inn. A long silence held between the friends until Armand sighed heavily and wistfully stated "Wow. What an incredibly stupid man."

* * *

Marguerite woke up that morning comfortably draped over her still sleeping lover incredibly relaxed and well rested, despite the fact she got very little sleep that night. A lazy smile slid across her face as an overwhelming feeling of euphoria filled her. With the aftereffects of their lovemaking still heavy upon her, she cuddled up against Chauvelin and let her heavy eyelids close as she attempted to fall asleep once again. 

However, she was deprived of further rest as the sun shone through the window and dispelled the darkness she needed to fall asleep. She stirred slightly and opened her eyes once again as she realized that she wasn't going to get anymore sleep.

Resolving to get up, she ran her hand across her lover's cheek and jaw and softly kissed him before sliding out of bed. Pulling on one of Chauvelin's shirts, she headed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast.

Marguerite stifled a yawn and ran a hand through her disheveled hair as she sat down at the table. She rested her head on her arm and didn't move for a while as she thought of what had compelled her to get out of bed and away from her lover's side. It was a terrible idea, for the mere thought of doing anything was suddenly very unappealing.

Finally deciding that she was not tired enough to return to bed and hungry enough to eat something, she pushed herself out of the chair and searched through the cabinets for something with which she could prepare a meal. After glancing at the contents of the cupboards, she felt her previous ecstacy give way to slight irritation, as she found nothing even remotely edible.

She would have given up her search had she not heard soft chuckling followed by a deep voice that informed her "There's food in the drawers to your right, Cherie."

Marguerite turned to face the man that stood in the doorway and flushed slightly; the agent was only half dressed, very disheveled, and, in his current state, terribly alluring. She managed to tare her eyes away from him and mumbled a barely audible thank you as she opened the drawer and pulled out a loaf of bread.

Marguerite was gently pulled against Chauvelin and she could keenly feel the strong, sculpted muscles of his abdomen through the thin shirt she wore. He ran his hand down the low neckline of the shirt she wore and nuzzled her neck as he softly whispered, "Did you sleep well, my love?"

Marguerite sighed in content and leaned against her lover. "Mmm…very well. And you, darling?"

"Never better." He gently kissed her neck and shoulder before purring, "You are heaven, Marguerite."

"As are you, my Chauvelin." She gently said as she ran her hand through his hair and guided his head lower.

"What do you need to do today, love?" he softly asked as he gently nipped her shoulder and collarbone as Marguerite guided him to the pit of her neck.

Marguerite moaned quietly before breathlessly saying "Nothing at all. What about you?"

"Just the normal. Meetings, paperwork, arrests, executions. Nothing out of the ordinary." He pulled her closer against him and turned her head to the side so he could look into her eyes. "Margot, I want you to speak to your brother again."

Marguerite stiffened at the mention of Armand and suddenly felt horribly guilty. "Armand is very angry with me, Chauvelin. He won't even speak to me."

Chauvelin listened to her protests and wouldn't have any of it. Pulling her even closer, he pressed his lips against hers and she was silenced without protest.

Though all her protests ceased as her lover kissed her, she couldn't help feeling absolutely miserable as the full realization of her betrayal of her brother and her husband sunk in.

"Try anyway, darling." Chauvelin said as he broke away from the woman. "I need to get going. I'll see you tonight." He kissed her once again before he left the room and got ready to leave.

As Marguerite was left alone, she gripped on to the edge of the counter to steady herself and brought a hand to her forehead. She felt hot, feverish, and terribly ill. "Percy, I'm sorry." She whimpered as she slowly sank to her knees. Her breathing quickened and she became very light-headed as she thought of how terribly she had betrayed her husband, the man she loved above all others. Everything that had happened over the course of the past two days had been unreal like some sort of dream. And now she had awakened to discover that it was less like a dream and more like a nightmare.

Marguerite gasped for breath as a wave of nausea passed over her. She pulled herself up and breather deeply in an attempt to clear the sudden illness, but it only became worse. Trying to keep her composure but failing miserably, she stumbled over to a washbasin and gripped the edges. Shaking weakly, she inclined her head and vomited into the basin. Marguerite remained over the pan for a while and tried to stop shaking.

Just as quickly as I had hit her, the nausea lifted and her strength returned. Marguerite stood up straight as she softly rubbed her stomach and felt her forehead once again. Whatever she may have had of a fever was certainly gone now. She shook her head in confusion and turned to leave the room.

Picking her clothing off the living room floor, she quickly washed up and dressed and left the flat. She had to make right what she had wronged. Now that she had fully awakened to the situation, she was going to find her husband and tell him all that had happened. She only hoped that he somehow would be able to forgive her.

* * *

Percy was feeling infinitely better that morning. The sharp, searing pain that coursed through his body last night was now a dull, throbbing pain, which was much preferred and considerably less painful. As the door to the room opened and he heard the quiet, cautious voice of a certain Armand St. Just call for him, Percy sprang out of bed to meet the Frenchman. 

Armand's jaw dropped as he glimpsed at his leader and saw large, bloodstained bandages around his abdomen. "Percy," he gasped in horror, "what happened to you?"

Percy patted the man good-naturedly on the back. "Oh, our little friend Chauvelin shot me a few times. Nothing too serious. How have you been?"

"Nothing too serious?" Armand asked in absolute shock. "Percy, Chauvelin shot you, and you're fine with this? This is a big deal and a really big problem! Percy, he knows you're the Pimpernel!"

"I know, and I don't believe that me getting shot had anything to do with that knowledge. It seemed like it was an impulse kill; no motive, just shooting for the sake of it." Percy suddenly became deadly serious and looked inquisitively at Armand. "Speaking of which, how did Chauvelin find out about me?"

Armand suddenly felt very close to tears. He cast his eyes to the ground and mumbled "you have almost died here once, Percy. Don't make me kill you now."

"Tell me, Armand." Percy whispered dangerously in a tone that almost made him sound like his bitter enemy.

After standing in silence for a few minutes, Armand looked up at his leader with eyes glazed over with tears. "Sit down, Percy." He whispered, his voice nearly cracking with emotion.

Percy's features softened immediately as his entire being filled with concern for his brother-in-law and worry for what he was about to hear. Nodding slightly. He sat down on the bed and looked intently at the young Frenchman.

"Percy, I want to apologize in advanced for betraying you. I was the one who spoke your name, but not to Chauvelin, and not to his men, but to my sister, I swear upon my life that not another soul heard me speak your secret, so I can only make the assumption that Marguerite told Chauvelin."

Percy listened in shock and shook his head in disbelief. "No…" he whispered, straining his voice to remain calm. "She wouldn't do that."

"Like she wouldn't denounce St. Cyr, right?" Armand countered.

Percy tensed and became defensive. "That wasn't her fault! Chauvelin forced her hand, she was blackmailed!"

"Percy, I know that! Will you let me finish?" Armand shouted at his riled up leader.

Percy calmed down and nodded his head in acknowledgement for Armand to continue.

The Frenchman stood in silence for a moment and bit his lower lip as he tried to think of how to tell the Pimpernel what he suspected of his sister. "I do believe that Chauvelin forced Marguerite into a corner again and left her no choice but to work for him." He said slowly as he carefully weighed his words. "That in itself is forgivable. Even giving up your identity to him under this pretext can be forgiven. But I don't think she betrayed you for this reason."

Armand was interrupted by Percy's nervous, disjointed laughter. "What other reason does she have?"

Armand sighed heavily. "Percy, I'm going to tell you this because I care about you too much not to. It would be a lot less painful if I said nothing, but it hurts me too much to watch you continue to be deceived and played for a fool."

"What are you getting at, Armand?"

"Percy, Marguerite…" He paused to swallow the lump in his throat and push back the threatening tears. "Marguerite is in love with Chauvelin."

All the color drained from Percy's face and his eyes narrowed in anger. "You lie…"

"Why would I say something of this severity if it were not true?" Armand shouted as his composure broke and bitter tears ran down his face. He took a few deep breaths and his anger dissipated as utter despair settled over him. "She told me herself. She acted like it was a mistake to let me know; like it slipped and no one was ever suppose to find out."

Percy's breath quickened to near hyperventilation and he was shaking terribly. "That doesn't prove anything." He said brokenly as if saying it would make it true, but it was painfully clear that the Pimpernel aversely believed Armand.

"Then perhaps her actions speak louder then her words. Chauvelin showed up and she kissed him like some whore, Percy. After being witness to that display, I have no doubt that what she said was true. I also have no question that she has spent the last two nights underneath Chauvelin."

Tears finally filled the Pimpernel's eyes and he nearly ceased breathing. The pain he felt when the bullets entered his body could have increased tenfold, and it still would not have been close to the pain that these arrows dealt him. Though Chauvelin had failed to kill him one way, he had more then succeeded in administering the hand of death to the Pimpernel in another way. "Bring her to me." He brokenly whispered.

"Percy, are you nuts?" Armand asked in disbelief. "She has betrayed you in more ways then one. What makes you think she won't lead Chauvelin right to you?"

"You dare question me?" Percy shouted, tears of betrayal and rage running down his face. "She must have a reason for what she has done, and I deserve an explanation! Now do as I say and bring Marguerite to me!"

Armand was taken by surprise at his leader's outburst, but sighed deeply and headed toward the door. "Of course, Percy." He said sadly as he walked out of the room.

Percy stared dejectedly at the floor. No sooner had his life began again, he was brutally murdered. And he was so recently led to believe that he could trust his wife, only to have his faith crushed once again. He could only wait and pray that Marguerite had an explanation for this terrible betrayal.


	8. Here in Hell the Blood Runs Deeper

**Not much of a note this time, except for this:Thank you to those who have reviewed! Because of you, I have got this chapter done in less then a week! Feel special! Anyway, this chapter should be of a slightly higher rating due to more violent insanity. But I don't think it's that bad. If you've come this far, you can handle it. One more thing. There are huge changes happening with some of these guys, and I really want to know what you think of it. So you could review or e-mail me with feedback, and I will be happy like no other. That's all. Keep reviewing, and enjoy this instalment!**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 8: Here in Hell the Blood Runs Deeper**

Marguerite walked slowly down the street in the direction of the prison where Armand was being held. Her mind frantically ran through ways she could approach the currently angry and decidedly obstinate man, for she was in desperate need to speak to him. She wasn't going because Chauvelin had told her to; she was going because she had to make things right. Talking to Percy was undeniably going to be the most difficult thing she had ever done, so she persuaded herself that if she could earn her brother's forgiveness, she might be able to convince Percy to grant her absolution as well.

Marguerite abruptly halted as she came upon the prison. The entire complex was swarming with soldiers. Even with the paranoia and fear within France in those days, this was unusual, if not unheard of. Something must have been terribly wrong. Thoughts of her brother instantly filled her mind and she rushed towards the prison out of concern for Armand's wellbeing.

Her mad dash was nearly instantly cut short as a Captain on a large horse intercepted her. "Madame," the Captain said in an authoritarian voice, "the prison is currently a restricted zone. You must leave at once."

"I beseech you, Citizen!" Marguerite desperately cried. "What is going on?"

"That information is classified and prohibited to the general public."

Marguerite's eyes narrowed in anger as the man before her suddenly became a mere obstacle to learning of her brother's safety. "You obviously don't know who I am, Citizen, so allow me to correct your ignorance." She said dangerously through clenched teeth. "I am Marguerite Blakeney, Agent Chauvelin's lover and his most trusted spy. If that does not place me far above the public, not to mention a petty soldier such as you, then I don't know what does. Now, you will tell me, Citizen, what is going on, unless you wish for my lover to know of your treatment of me."

The Captain paled. He was dealing with a woman that, as far as he was concerned, belonged to Agent Chauvelin. Though he had never met the man, the agent was renowned throughout France to be short tempered, unforgiving, possessive, and more or less insane. He realized that messing with this woman would probably get him sent straight to the Guillotine, and that would be if Lady Luck was with him. He had heard horror stories of what Chauvelin would do to some people before he sent them to their deaths.

Dismounting the horse out of respect for the woman, he bowed deeply, and with the highest regard, asserted, "Sometime this morning, the Scarlet Pimpernel infiltrated the prison and escaped with the traitor Armand St. Just, one of his league."

Marguerite's face instantly lit up. Not only was Armand safe, Percy was in France at this very moment. She muttered a hasty thank you to the Captain and rushed to the inn she said she would meet Andrew that afternoon. Since Armand's rescue had created such a commotion, perhaps Percy had anticipated her finding out about it in a short span of time and had sent Andrew to retrieve her early.

Not five minutes later, Marguerite burst into the inn where she had met with Andrew. She was horribly flushed and it hurt to breathe as her throat filled with an acidic burning from her sprint form the prison. She desperately looked around the inn and saw a familiar face in the far corner of the room. "Sir Andrew!" she cried as loudly as her weary state allowed and walked slightly unsteadily toward the man.

Andrew's attention was instantly caught as that musical voice he knew all too well called out for him. The moment he saw the woman, his face filled with worry and concern. The girl was deathly pale, breathing heavily, and looked decidedly unhealthy. "Marguerite, are you alright?" he gently inquired as he began to walk to her.

Marguerite suddenly stopped. The dizziness and the nausea she felt not long ago hit her again twice as bad as before. She swayed slightly on the spot she stood upon before she lost consciousness and fell forward.

Andrew dashed toward her as she began to fall and caught her just before she hit the floor. He felt her forehead, and despite how pale she was she burned. "Marguerite," he whispered as he gently shook her, "wake up. Please wake up." The woman didn't move, and panic gripped Andrew. He gently picked her up and cradled her in his arms and against his chest and he rushed her out of the inn and took the ill woman to see a doctor.

* * *

Chauvelin stood in silence before the cell that until this morning was Armand's. Despite all his begging and pleading, the agent would not let the young soldier out of his prison. He was stupid enough to get tricked in there; he could stay in there for all he cared. Not that he cared that Armand had escaped; he had promised his beloved Marguerite that he would be free, not to mention that St. Just no longer held any value since Chauvelin had learned that Blakeney was the Pimpernel. 

What struck a cord with the agent was that the Pimpernel was in France at this very moment. Chauvelin smiled slightly as he became drunk with unrestrained evil. Percy Blakeney would die today; the cursed man was too close to the agent to escape.

The young Chauvelin stood by a table in the room and gently fingered the note bearing the insignia of the Pimpernel. "Chauvelin, these rescues must be stopped. You have been taunted enough by this Englishman."

"It ends today." Chauvelin said passionately. "The Pimpernel is in France at this very moment. By the end of the day, the man will fall."

The boy threw a confrontational look at the agent. "And if you don't succeed, Chauvelin? Then what? That damnable nuisance will continue to aid these traitors."

Chauvelin's eyes widened in concern. He hadn't thought of that, but it was certainly a possibility. "What do I do?"

The boy smiled slyly and walked toward the agent. "Simple." He reached up and sheltered Chauvelin's cheek in one hand and buried the other in his hair. He brought the agent's head down and rested it on his shoulder and whispered in his ear "Kill the prisoners. Leave no one left for the Pimpernel to save."

Chauvelin's eyes grew heave and his breathing became deeper and faster as immeasurable bloodlust filled him.

One of the captains walked into the room and saluted his superior. "Citizen, we have secured and searched the entire area. All other prisoners are present and accounted for and we have found no sign of Citizen St. Just or the Pimpernel. My men await your orders, Citizen."

Chauvelin looked u at the captain with unbarred lust in his eyes. "Remove all your troops from the prison. I want this place empty save for the traitors."

The Captain looked at the agent in disbelief. This was unheard of. "Citizen, I-"

"Now, Captain!" he shouted as unrestrained rage gripped the agent.

The Captain shrank away from Chauvelin. "Yes, of course, Citizen. Right away." The man stuttered as he turned to leave as quickly as he could; the man was incredibly intimidating.

"Captain." Chauvelin said sweetly, devoid of all the anger he previously exhibited. "Leave me your sword, would you?"

The Captain was stunned beyond speech at the agent's dramatic change of disposition. Quickly removing his sword from his belt, he laid it upon the table and left the room without delay.

Chauvelin looked indifferently at the Captain as he departed, and when the man was no longer in sight, he slowly walked over to the table, picked up the weapon and removed it from it's sheathe.

Young Chauvelin came up behind the agent and gently ran his hand over the blade. "Beautiful weapon, isn't it?"

"That it is," the agent responded, "but mine is superior. Later we must go to my office and retrieve my sword. I want to kill the Pimpernel with my own weapon."

"That we shall do, but that blade will serve our purpose. Get to work, mon ami."

The insatiable lust filled Chauvelin's eyes once again and he walked with sword drawn to the cell and unlocked the door.

The young soldier was terrified. He was not so foolish to think that the agent had opened the door to free him. After all, he had been single-handedly responsible for the successful escape of the traitor Armand St. Just.

The horror-stricken soldier rushed to the farthest corner of the cell as Chauvelin entered the prison with the tip of a saber pointed right at the young man's chest. He knew that even attempting to escape would be foolish; he was dealing with Agent Chauvelin, an overall perfect specimen of a man that happened to be one of the most feared, cruel, and powerful men in the Republic and one of the best fencers in France.

The soldier closed his eyes tight and mouthed a silent prayer that Chauvelin would kill him quickly in the least painful way possible. Somehow, though, he doubted that his prayers would be answered.

As Chauvelin slowly advanced upon the petrified man, a malicious grin slid across his face and he began to chuckle softly. Without warning, the agent lashed out with lightning speed and deadly accuracy. The tip of the sword grazed the soldier's forehead and with a quick, fluid motion, ran down to the boy's cheek, missing his eye by a fraction of an inch.

The soldier felt searing pain, followed by the sensation of blood running down his face. He shuddered and couldn't keep from weeping; he was going to die, but the agent was going to torture him first.

Chauvelin pinned the soldier's arms above his head with his arm and rested the blade against the trembling boy's stomach. He pressed his body against the young soldier, which forced the blade to shallowly cut into the boy's body. "Tell me, boy." Chauvelin whispered an inch from the soldier's face. "Do I scare you? Do you fear me?"

The soldier stared transfixed into the Chauvelin's blazing gold eyes, his falcon-like gaze holding him and preventing the terrified man from looking away. "Between sobs, he managed to choke "Yes, Citizen."

A lazy, sly smile slid across the agent's face. He inclined his head slightly and slowly licked the trail of blood on the boy's face from his chin to his temple.

Revulsion jolted through the soldier and he wept harder, disparately crying "God, help me!"

Chauvelin leaned his forehead against the soldier's and looked fiercely into his eyes. "If God cared for you, I wouldn't be standing before you now." He swiftly pressed the blade into the boy and slid it through his abdomen in one fluid movement.

The soldier's eyes widened in pain and fear for a fleeting moment before he slipped into unconsciousness and slid down the wall as the agent released his arms.

Without a glance at the man at his feet, Chauvelin turned and walked out of the cell, leaving the young man to die on the floor. Wiping the blade on his jacket, Chauvelin slowly walked out of the room, gently whispering to himself "One."

* * *

When she woke up, Marguerite found herself lying on a cot in a rather small room. She shook her head slightly as she sat up. Though she was very sore, she no longer felt sick. Deciding that she no longer needed to stay in bed, she swung her feet over the side of the cot and, slightly unsteadily, stood up. She started to head toward the door, but she stopped as a gentle voice from the corner instructed, "You're free to walk around, but it would be advised if you stay here. The doctor isn't quite done with you yet." 

Instantly recognizing the voice, Marguerite ran to Sir Andrew's side and kissed his cheek. "Andrew! I'm so happy to see you! Did you save Armand? Where is he now? When are you taking me to see Percy? Are we leaving for England today?"

"Please, Madame!" Andrew cried, overwhelmed by the rapidity of her inquiry. "There will be time for questions later. The doctor will be here in a moment to have a look at you."

"I really don't think that's necessary, Andrew." She said dismissively. "I feel absolutely fine."

"Yes, well, you didn't look so well a little while ago. Better to be safe. I'd hate to deliver you to Percy in less then perfect condition."

Marguerite smiled happily and shyly looked at Andrew. "Of course. Anything for Percy." With the thought of seeing her husband soon, she grew slightly impatient. "What's taking the doctor so long, Andrew?"

"He had to go find a midwife. You know it's in bad practice for a man to examine a woman."

"Oh, that's silly." She said quietly.

"Silly or not, that's the way things are."

At that moment, the doctor walked into the room fallowed by a short, aged woman who walked with a bounce in her step as if she was twenty years old. "I promised you a doctor and I return to you with this Hag." the doctor sighed in annoyance.

"Get out of my way! Let me see the girl." the midwife said irritably as she pushed past the doctor. She walked up to Marguerite and grabbed her chin, carefully examining her face. "Well, well. Aren't you a pretty thing." She said in a much kinder tone then before. "Sit down, child, and we'll have a look at you." She quickly turned around and reeled on the doctor. "And you! Get out!"

Deciding that it wasn't worth his time to argue with the crazed woman, the doctor rolled his eyes and left the room muttering some unheard obscenity towards the midwife.

The woman glared at the doctor as he left and as soon as he was out of sight, she turned on Andrew. "And you too! Out!" she shouted at the dumbfounded man.

"But I just can't-"

"Out!" she yelled with more vigor and volume then before.

"Ok! Ok!" he hastily said as he scrambled out of the chair and toward the door. "Marguerite, you'll be alright on your own?"

"I'll be fine, Andrew."

"OUT!"

"Ok! I'm going!"

As soon as Andrew left the room, the woman viciously slammed the door behind him. She flounced over to the bed and tentatively felt Marguerite's forehead. "Hmmm…you don't feel like you're sick. Bloody men don't know anything." The midwife pulled up a chair and seated herself before Marguerite. "Now, child, I'm just going to ask you a few questions. I need you to be honest or I won't know what's wrong with you."

Marguerite nodded and gently said, "I'll do what I can."

"Good. How do you feel now? Sick at all?"

"No, I feel fine."

"Ok, good. The young man said you fainted. Do you know why?"

Marguerite shook her head. "No idea. I ran really hard before. Maybe it was because I overexerted myself."

"What did you feel like before you passed out?"

Marguerite closed her eyes and tried to remember. "I felt really sick." she finally said.

"Like how?"

"Dizzy, tired, nauseous, but I had just ran for a while. I don't think that's abnormal."

"No, maybe not. Have you felt this way before?"

"Yes. Earlier this morning."

"Ah." The woman gave a knowing smile. "You faint that time?"

"No, but…"

"But what?"

"I…I got really nauseous and threw up."

"Huh. You married, girl?"

Marguerite smiled broadly. "Yes. To the most wonderful man in existence."

The old woman leaned back in her chair and smiled to herself. Sighing softly, she got up out of the chair and affectionately patted Marguerite on the head. "Well, you're not sick with anything that's unexpected for a woman of your age."

"What?" Marguerite asked in surprise. She certainly didn't feel ill. "I don't understand."

"It's simple enough, child." she said gently. "You're with child."

Marguerite paled to near ashen grey. With child. Chauvelin's child. Any hopes she entertained of being forgiven by Percy for her weakness shattered before her eyes. How could her husband forgive her for being pregnant with another man's baby? "No," she whispered on the brink of tears, "that cannot be."

The midwife shrugged indifferently. "I could be wrong, but I doubt it." As she turned to leave, she called over her shoulder "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

As the woman left, Andrew entered and found Marguerite silently weeping. Whatever the doctor had told her must have been really bad. Quickly walking to her side and sitting next to her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Hush, hush. Don't cry."

"Andrew," she asked tearfully, "does Percy still love me?"

Andrew looked down at the pitiful woman with compassion. "Of course he doe, Marguerite. I don't think he could ever stop loving you." He tilted his head to the side and looked at her inquisitively. "What did the midwife say was wrong with you?"

Marguerite buried her head into his shoulder so he could not see the new tears that fell from her eyes. "Nothing but overexertion. Its just fatigue. I just need some rest and I'll be fine."

"Good." He gently said as he stroked her hair. He knew she was lying, but if she didn't wish to speak the truth, that was her business. "Come on. Let's take you to see Percy."

As she and Andrew walked out of the room, Marguerite managed to compose herself a bit, but the joy she felt in the anticipation of seeing her husband had disappeared. Now that within her body laid the seed of her passion and lust, her infidelity to her husband and her love of a man she should hate, she felt horrible about seeing Percy. How could she meet him, the Scarlet Pimpernel, with the knowledge that she was carrying the child of his bitter enemy? Sadly casting her eyes at the ground and laying her hand over her womb, she silently followed Andrew through the streets to the secluded inn where Percy was waiting for her.

* * *

The massive division of jail guards and soldiers that once protected the prison stood idle in the streets before the structure, impatiently awaiting orders from Agent Chauvelin. They were ordered to evacuate the prison early that morning and were given no further instruction. It was now around noon and there was no sign of the agent. 

All the soldiers were about to give up waiting for their commander and go elsewhere when the prison gate opened, and the rowdy crowd grew instantly silent. Chauvelin walked with his jacket and vest slung over his shoulder and he was drenched in blood. He removed his once white shirt and dropped his soaking clothing at the feet of one of the soldiers and drawled in a bored tone "Get those cleaned for me, would you?"

The entire division stared at the agent with unmitigated horror; though the man's torso was covered in the thick, sticky liquid, no more was appearing. It was painfully clear that it was not the agent's own blood.

"No need to return to your posts, men." Chauvelin said tiredly.

One of the soldiers had enough with about him to ask "Why, Citizen?"

Chauvelin glared evilly at the man. "Why do you think, dolt? All the prisoners are dead. There's nobody left to guard. Go home. You're no longer needed."

The Captain of the division stepped forward and looked at the agent with wide, fearful eyes. "All of them?" he whispered in disbelieving horror. "But, Agent Chauvelin, there are over one thousand prisoners in there! Surely they can't all be dead!"

Chauvelin sighed in frustration. "There's where you're wrong, Captain." He drew a pistol from his belt and pointed the barrel at the man's forehead. "There were only seven hundred and forty three." He pulled the trigger and the man instantly fell to the floor. "Seven hundred and forty four." Without another word, the agent left the awestruck soldiers and went to his offices to retrieve his weapon.

Storming into his personal office, he threw open the doors of a large cabinet and gazed lovingly at an impressive arsenal of bladed weapons.

"They truly are beautiful, just as you said." The young Chauvelin whispered by the agent's ear. "More art then weaponry. Which shall you choose to be the Pimpernel's instrument of death?"

Without hesitation, Chauvelin reached out and grabbed a long saber that sat before the rest. He tentatively ran his fingers along the hilt and pommel and gently unsheathed the sword, revealing a polished, deadly sharp, black blade. He brought the sword up and gazed into the smooth, burnished surface, the weapon eerily reflecting his yellow eyes against the black steel. "It's the best weapon I possess. The Pimpernel deserves no less."

"Very well." The boy said as he walked away. "Come."

"Where are we going?" Chauvelin asked as he sheathed the weapon and hooked it to his belt, obediently following the child.

"First, to your flat. We need to get you cleaned up. You smell of blood. Then we need to get your horse. We're going to Calais."

"Calais? Why?"

"Because the Pimpernel has docked his ship there. He disappears from your sight within Paris, but he cannot within Calais. It's too small, and he has no choice but to return there."

"And so he has allies there, hmm?" Chauvelin asked, his eyes once again glinting with bloodlust.

The child smiled slightly at the man's expression. "But of course. Come. We must go now if we wish to intercept him."

Submissively obeying the boy, Chauvelin followed him out of the building to prepare for the raid on the small coastal town and for the death of Sir Percy Blakeney.


	9. You Are My Home

**And once again, hello, and welcome back. I've very little to say, other then this is the BIG chapter that all of you have been waiting for. So, I sort of made some things up. Big deal, I've got some really cool thing called "Artistic Licence". Oh yes. BUT! I really want to know what you think of it, as it is pretty important to the development/conclusion of the story. And there.So, please review if you like it, review if you see something you don't like,and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Someday, I shall own the rights to something that everyone will want to copy, but the Scarlet Pimpernel will never be one of those things.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter 9: You Are My Home**

Marguerite stood outside Percy's room nervously twisting a lock of stray hair around her finger. Trembling horribly, she reached out to the door handle, but quickly withdrew her hand. The moment she opened the door, her judgment would begin, and Percy alone would decide if she was to live or die, for she surely could not live without him. If he were to reject her, it would certainly be the death of her.

She reached out for the handle again and tears seeped from her eyes as she grabbed the brass knob. Breathing deeply and composing herself, she wiped away her tears and slowly opened the door. Cautiously peeking her head into the room, she saw her husband standing at the window, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as he gazed into the streets below.

Marguerite momentarily stopped breathing; her beloved husband was wrapped in bandages. She nearly started to cry once again but breathed deeply and controlled herself. She would ask about that later. She slipped through the slightly opened door and gently closed it behind her. "Percy." she whispered in a trembling voice.

Percy inhaled deeply and held his breath for a moment. He had promised himself that when he spoke to his lovely wife, he would forget all that her brother had told him and hold no prejudice against her. However, now that she was standing in the room, his vow was becoming increasingly difficult to uphold as his mind betrayed him and images of Chauvelin and Marguerite engaged in the throes of passion filled his mind. He slowly turned to face her, and as his pained eyes locked with her desperate ones, he softly whispered "Marguerite."

Marguerite smiled happily as she finally heard her husband's voice again. She began to walk swiftly towards Percy so that she might embrace him but stopped suddenly as if some deadly shaft had struck her. Her eyes shone with torment and pain as she looked upon her husband and brought her hands down over her womb. She was impure, and touching Percy may soil his innocence and perfection.

Percy watched intently as the emotions played across Marguerite's face; first to joy, then to pain and remorse. His heart broke as he watched the beautiful young woman in such a state of misery and wanted nothing more then to draw her into his arms and tell her that everything would be alright. That he already knew what happened and he forgave her. But this stubborn, jealous side of him rooted him to the spot as a part of him couldn't bear to touch her when mere hours before, her naked body had shared tenderness or God knows what with that French halfwit.

Marguerite was overcome with shame and guilt for her actions over the past two days and began to silently weep. "Percy, I…" She choked on her words and cried harder. She needed to tell Percy, but it was proving to be much more difficult then she had previously imagined it would be. "Percy, I need to speak with you." She tearfully said.

Percy finally broke. Despite his attempted to remain removed from his traitorous wife, he was still desperately in love with her, and the sight of her crying the way she did was nearly as bad as Armand's news that she was sleeping with Chauvelin. Finally moving form his place at the window, he walked swiftly to his wife and took her in his embrace.

As Percy wrapped his arms around her, Marguerite wept even harder and pushed away from him. "Percy, please! I am undeserving of your love!"

"Why, Margot?" he cried in agony as she refused him.

"Because I stand before you knee deep in sin!" she shouted as she wept uncontrollably. "Percy, I have been spying for Chauvelin, and it was I who betrayed your name to him! And Chauvelin and I, we…"

"Marguerite, stop!" Percy cried, quickly interrupting what he knew would be news far worse then what he just heard. "Can we just deal with these problems one at a time? Please?" He slowly walked over to her and gently drew her into his arms again.

"Percy, please!"

"Do you love me, Marguerite?" he asked softly, tilting her chin up so he could look into her beautiful blue eyes.

Marguerite calmed down instantly. Though he knew that she betrayed him, he was still sweet, gentle Percy. After being lost for so long, she had finally found the man that she fell in love with. All acts, all disguises had vanished; this was Percy. She encircled his waist with her arms and laid her head on his chest. "I love you, Percy. More then anything, more then life itself."

Percy's heart took flight. Everything was right in the world at that moment. Never mind that she betrayed him, or that his worst enemy was her lover. She still loved him, and as long as they had their love, all would be well. Gently stroking her hair, he softly whispered, "See? We love each other, Marguerite. We can work through this. Now, let's start at the beginning." He released her and led her to the bed and had her sit down. He knelt before her and gently took her hands in his. "Your first problem?"

Sniffling slightly as her tears receded, she softly said "I betrayed you to Chauvelin." Despite that she had just confessed a terrible truth, she smiled lovingly at her husband. "You're the Pimpernel, Percy. I…I couldn't believe it, but it's true, isn't it?"

"That it is, Madame. Now, why did you betray my name to our Frenchie friend?

"I…" Marguerite swallowed and tried to compose herself. That piece of information would be much harder to tell him. "It…it's complicated."

"I have time, and you have my undivided attention."

Marguerite sighed and whispered, "I came to France to save Armand and was caught by Chauvelin. He gave me a choice: deliver the name of the Pimpernel to him, or Armand would be sent to the Guillotine. I, of course, didn't know that you were the Pimpernel, so I agreed to his terms. I got Armand to tell me that you are the Pimpernel, and I…" Marguerite suddenly stopped. She couldn't go on unless Percy knew about her affair.

Percy sensed his wife's tension and affectionately squeezed her hands. "It's alright. Go on."

"Percy, may I ask you a question before I continue?" Marguerite asked shyly.

He smiled sweetly at the woman. "But of course."

Before I left for France, I spoke to the Pimpernel at the Prince's Ball. That was you, wasn't it?"

"Sink me, but it was!" he said in his most foppish manner, which immediately relived the tension and earned him a slight laugh from his wife.

"Then you know, Percy, about my previous relationship with Chauvelin?" she said quietly.

Percy's countenance dropped a bit and he quietly responded, "Yes, I know about that."

"Well, Percy, Chauvelin never stopped loving me. He still does. I tell you this because he threw in a second condition for Armand's safety. On top of delivering the Pimpernel's identity to him, I was…" She fought back the urge to cry and continued onwards. "I was to become his lover again."

Though Percy had already known this, nothing could prepare him for the pain and anguish he felt when Marguerite herself had told him of the awful extent of her actions. Straining to keep the pain out of his voice, he softly asked "And you complied?"

Tears once again fell from Marguerite's eyes. "I did. That's how he got me to confess your name. He…he touched me and I lost myself, Percy. He interrogated me when he knew I couldn't control myself, and it slipped before I knew what I was saying. I couldn't control myself, Percy." She was crying freely now and threw herself into Percy's arms. "I'm so sorry! Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Percy!"

Percy pulled Marguerite close and held her tightly. His pity and sympathy for the weeping girl in his arms quickly dissolved into anger, not toward his wife, but toward Chauvelin. As it seemed, the agent was wholly responsible for Marguerite's betrayal of his name. However, he braced himself for the explanation of her infidelity, for he believed the reason for the affair to be twofold. "Marguerite, there is no need to be sorry for betraying my name. You were doing what you believed to be right. I forgive you for that entirely." Gently kissing the top of her head, he seated her back on the bed and said "Now, tell me about this little liaison of yours."

Marguerite began to cry harder. "Percy, I fear that you will no longer love me after I make this confession."

He smiled sweetly and gently whispered "Nonsense. It may pain me, but we will always have our love. We can overcome all vices as long as our love stays strong."

Marguerite smiled sadly at her husband and found the strength from Percy to continue. "Percy, I did become Chauvelin's lover again for Armand's sake originally, but it didn't take long for it to develop into something more. I…" She tried to speak, but new tears choked her voice. Failing to fight the tears, she began to weep bitterly and between sobs she managed to choke "I love Chauvelin, Percy."

The Pimpernel felt as though he was drowning; he couldn't breathe and his head was spinning. Hearing those terrible words from Armand was bad, but when Marguerite spoke those same words, Percy watched helplessly as his entire world shattered before his eyes. He put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, no…" he cried as tears began to fall from his closed eyes. "My Margot, you lied to me. You said you loved me."

Marguerite's tearful eyes filled with desperation. "Percy, I do love you!"

"How can you say that?" he quietly asked, slowly shaking his head. "You just now confessed your love for Chauvelin. How could you love two?"

Marguerite renewed her frantic, uncontrolled weeping and threw herself at her husband's feet. "Percy! Percy, please!" she cried, desperately clinging to her husband's leg as though he would disappear. "Let me explain! Please, Percy, my love, please!" She laid her forehead against his knee and wept harder, gently whispering "Please…"

Percy took his hands from his face and looked down at the pitiful woman at his feet and absentmindedly stroked her hair. "Go on, Margot." he said quietly. "I'm listening."

Marguerite looked up into Percy's trusting eyes and instantly felt safe, peaceful and calm; feelings Chauvelin's eyes never drew from her. This was why she loved Percy so much more then she loved Chauvelin; loving, gentle and safe, Percy was her home. She owed him this explanation. "Percy, I'm going to tell you everything. You need to know this. I cannot explain otherwise."

She looked down briefly to push back and residue tears and met Percy's eyes once again. "Chauvelin and I met the day we stormed the Bastille. To make a very long story significantly shorter, we very quickly discovered that we loved each other. We never confessed this, we just knew it, we could feel it. He was the first man that I ever truly loved." She blushed slightly and turned her eyes away from her husband. "Chauvelin made me a woman, Percy." she said quietly. "I loved him so much, I didn't think twice about giving him my virginity."

Feeling her husband tense, she reached up and gently stroked his cheek. "Then I met you, Percy, and my whole world changed. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with you. You are more loving, more gentle then Chauvelin ever was. You became everything to me, and six weeks after I met you, I was ready to give you the rest of my life."

Marguerite's face fell and her eyes once again filled with sorrow. "Chauvelin and I, we never really broke up. We were both terribly busy, he with the Revolution and I with the theater, so we didn't see each other often during this time. My acting career had taken off, and I was usually doing two performances a day. Chauvelin had become a central figure of the Revolution and he was holding three fulltime jobs. He often came home after I had already fallen asleep and would leave before I woke up. Business of his would also take him away from home for weeks at a time, so I rarely saw him. It was around this time that you came into my life. I think that I met with Chauvelin once during the time you were courting me. I didn't break off with him then because he was my lover and you were, so I thought, an overzealous admirer."

She took a deep breath and a few tears came back to her eyes. "The next time I saw him, Percy, you and I were engaged to be married. You made me forget him for a little while, not stop loving him. Naturally, he was furious, but I knew I made the right decision. My love for you was so much more pure, more lasting and much stronger then my love for Chauvelin. But nonetheless, I was never given the chance to get over him. Six weeks is hardly enough time to get over a longstanding lover like Chauvelin."

Tears once again to flow freely as she recalled the painful memories and she whispered, "Then, after our marriage, you changed. I didn't know what happened, but the man I had fallen in love with had disappeared entirely, and I couldn't help myself from missing Chauvelin. Our marriage was supposed to help me forget him, but since you were gone, I only desired him more in my loneliness. As long as you were near, I still held on to the hope that the man I fell in love with still existed somewhere inside you, so I managed to push Chauvelin away the times he tried to get me back. Then I came to France. With you nowhere near, he was easily able to bring me back to him. And I…Oh, God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Percy was absolutely stunned. He naturally knew none of this. Poor woman. She had been refused the chance to forget her love for Chauvelin because of the whole St. Cyr incident, and that wasn't even her fault. If anything, it was his fault for not clarifying the situation on their wedding day. And still, even after all the anguish and torment he had put his wife through, she still loved him. Percy's eyes slowly filled with tears. His sweet, beautiful Marguerite had to suffer all this because of his own stubbornness. He gathered her into hi arms and held her tightly as he covered her face with kisses. "My love, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Percy, I've been unfaithful!" she cried in disbelief. "The worst crime I could possibly commit against you I have committed!"

"Then just promise me that you will love me faithfully for the rest of our lives."

Marguerite looked at him like he was the only man in the world. She gently stroked his cheek as if testing whether or not he was real. "Percy…" she softly whispered, full of awe, admiration and love for the man in front of her and she slowly leaned forward and pressed her lips against her husband's.

The moment she kissed him, all the passion that Percy had kept pent up during their marriage came unleashed. He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her as close as he could and he deepened the kiss, moaning in pleasure.

Marguerite was surprised at the passion her husband exhibited, but she instantly melted into him. For a few short moments, everything was the way it should have always been between them, but a sharp pain ran through Marguerite and she quickly pulled away from Percy as the pain in her abdomen reminded her what now lay within her body.

Percy whimpered in protest as Marguerite's lips left his and, slightly flushed and out of breath, looked pleadingly at hi wife as she slid off his lap and stood by the window. "Marguerite…" he begged as he stood and reached out to her.

"Percy, I don't think you understand." she said sadly. "You could not possibly forgive me so quickly if you did."

"No, my Margot! I do understand!" he cried desperately. "Mind you, I'm not happy about your relationship with Chauvelin. I'm just happy you've returned to me." He looked sadly at the ground and morosely said, "You had no reason to come back to me. I've been horrible to you."

Marguerite shook her head slowly, and fought the urge to weep again. She had to stay strong. "There is no excuse for what I have done. And now my sin will plague us for the rest of our lives."

"What?" Percy was terribly confused. He had forgiven her, and everything was going to be alright. What was she getting at? "Margot, I don't understand…"

"Percy…" she whispered in a trembling voice as she looked at her husband with tears veiling her eyes. "I'm with child."

Percy staggered back as if he had been shot. Everything else he had been prepared for, so he could handle himself with a relative amount of calm and composure. But this was completely unexpected and therefore only that much more painful. For two nights, Agent Chauvelin, his hated enemy for now multiple reasons, had been lying between his wife's legs and now his seed had taken root within her. He had lost the battle; not only did Chauvelin make Marguerite love him, he bedded her, and now she was going to bear his child. She was forever bound to the agent, as her child, her first child, would be a part of the depraved, seductive fiend. Her first child. Her first child should have been his. "And what shall you do with it?" he asked harshly.

"I don't know." she said quietly as the tears ran down her face. "Oh, Percy. You're angry with me, aren't you?"

"Angry?" he asked dumbfounded. "You think I'm angry? Marguerite, angry hardly begins to cover it!" he shouted, his voice quivering with rage. "In nine months, I'll have to look at a piece of Chauvelin for the rest of my life!" He laughed bitterly and fixed a vice-like grip on the bedpost. "Just think of it. A living result of your passions to remind me that you were unfaithful to me, that you are in love with another man, that you made love to the most deplorable creature that ever walked the earth. All this while we were married!"

He turned and viciously glared at his wife. "And even now as I look at you, I possess the knowledge that a Hell fiend rests inside you. A spawn of Satan, just like its father!" He tightly clenched his eyes shut and covered his face with his hand. "How do you suppose these wounds are to heal if this child will be the knife that cuts the injury deeper each time I look upon it?"

Marguerite was crying harder then any of the previous times. Percy's anger frightened her, for she had never seen the man genuinely enraged, but she knew she deserved this, fool that she was. "I…Percy." she sobbed. "I don't have to have the child. I could try to miscarry it. I…I don't have to eat, or we could try to poison it, or…"

Percy's anger evaporated and his eyes filled with fear as he listened to the woman speak. He rushed to her side and took her into his arms. "No, no, Marguerite." he whispered as he stroked her hair. "No harm is to come to you or your baby, do you understand?"

"But, Percy, I…"

"Hush." he said as his arms tightened around her. "What's done is done. Though I am unhappy about it, I have already forgiven you for your affair with Chauvelin. As this is a result of your passions with the man, it was unfair of me to get angry with you for this. I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"We…we could find some way to dispose of the child after it is born. We could leave it at a church or…"

"Marguerite, listen to me." Percy held her at arms length and looked into her desperate eyes. "You conceived this child in your love for another man. The very least you can do is take responsibility for your actions and raise your child."

"But, Percy! What about you?" she cried. "You said that my baby will only cause you pain! Would you not like to be rid of the child?"

Percy smiled lovingly at Marguerite and tenderly embraced her. "My love, even though the child is Chauvelin's, it's just as much yours. How could I bring myself to dispose of something that is a part of you? Raise your chills, Marguerite, and I will try to be the best father I can be to your baby."

Marguerite looked at her husband with the highest esteem. She slid her hands around his neck and whispered, "I love you, Percy." before softly kissing him.

Percy would have stayed like that for the rest of eternity, yet as the sun shone through the window, he became urgent. The sun was starting to sink and it wouldn't be long before it set. He had to get them out of France. "Come, Margot!" he triumphantly stated as he broke away from her. "We need to get you and that brother of yours back to England. No doubt half the Republic is searching for you two."

Marguerite was positively shining. England. Home. She was going home. She suddenly remembered the question that she needed to ask her husband and quickly stated "Percy, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, my love." he said as he pulled on a shirt and dressed himself for the journey.

"Were you injured? You're covered in bandages."

"Ah. Yes." he said casually. "Our friend Chauvelin decided that I would look simply splendid with a few bullets lodged in my body. So much for his taste in fashion. It looked simply horrid, let me assure you."

Marguerite gasped in horror. "Oh, my Percy, are you alright?"

"Quite, my dear. Think nothing of it." He offered his arm to her and she eagerly took it. He led her out into the hallway and unceremoniously barged into the next room where they saw Tony, Andrew, and Armand staring dumbstruck at the Pimpernel and his wife.

Part of their speechlessness was due to the fact that Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, didn't bother to knock. The other part of it was that Percy and Marguerite were both glowing in their joy. All three men had expected the division between their leader and his wife to be much greater. It seemed, though, that the couple was perfectly cozy and comfortable in each other's company.

"Really, men." Percy said in his laziest drawl. "I leave you alone for what I imagine to be quite some time and you are not yet ready to leave? Sink me, but that is demned inconvenient! Come now. Hurry, hurry! We leave for Calais presently!" The three men jumped to attention and the Pimpernel, his lady, and his League were speeding toward Calais within ten minutes.

* * *

A large, black warhorse thundered across the French countryside toward the fast approaching coastal village of Calais. Both horse and rider were a fearsome sight. The beast was huge and fiendishly wild looking, which only made the rider more chillingly terrifying. Immaculately clean and kept, the golden eyes of the man glowed with sinister resolution and purpose, a vision of the Angel of Death himself. The horse stopped just outside the town and the rider dismounted and landed heavily on his feet. Instantly righting himself, he quickly strode into the city. 

A sailor saw the vision in black approaching and quickly went to meet the man. "Citizen, what is your business?"

Swiftly drawing his sword, Chauvelin brought the blade straight across the man's neck; the steel biting into his flesh so deeply the head was nearly dislodged. "My business is none of yours." the agent cruelly said to the corpse at his feet as he deftly stepped over the body.

He quickly made his way over to the small inn located just before the dock, instantly striking down any poor soul that happened across his line of vision. He stepped into the inn and immediately took note of the man standing behind the front desk. "Have you seen that yacht in the harbor, Citizen?" Chauvelin asked sweetly.

The innkeeper looked up and quickly looked the man over, noticing the tricolor sash around his waist. The innkeeper paled; no visit from a revolutionary leader was ever a good thing. "Yes, I have." he answered politely.

"Beautiful ship." the agent continued. "I heard that it belongs to Sir Percy Blakeney of England."

"That it does, Citizen. He's a good man,Lord Blakeney is."

"Ah." With his suspicions confirmed, the agent slowly approached the man. "How long have you been aiding the Pimpernel, traitor?"

"What? I'm sorry, Citizen, but I haven't any idea what you speak of." The man was terrified, and he only hoped that it didn't show. There was no possible way the agent could have known about his assistance to the Pimpernel.

Chauvelin struck out at the man with lightning speed and the tip of his sword pierced the innkeeper's eye. He shivered in pleasure as the man's screams filled the air as he dropped to the ground and writhed in sheer agony. "Honesty is a virtue, traitor." Chauvelin quietly stated as he placed his foot on the man's mouth, instantly silencing the man's cries of pain. "Confess to your crime and I may let you live."

"I concede!" the man yelled as the agent removed his foot. "I have been aiding the Pimpernel!"

Chauvelin shook his head and softly clicked his tongue. "For shame, traitor." he gently admonished as he placed the heel of his boot on the man's temple and gradually applied pressure. Chauvelin began to softly chuckle and pant, his face flushing as the man's screams increased in pitch as more and more pressure was applied. The agent's foot suddenly sank several inches and the innkeeper's cries instantly ceased.

Chauvelin stood motionless for a few moments and allowed his arousal to subside. As he turned to leave, he noticed a torch upon the wall that lit the room. He impulsively reached out and took the torch from the wall and ran up the stairs with it. As he stood in the arrow hallway, he lifted the torch above his head and allowed the flames to lick the ceiling, and it wasn't long before the dry wood caught fire. Satisfied with his handiwork, Chauvelin dropped the torch and left the inn.

Within minutes, the entire building was engulfed in flames. A coastal wind began to blow and the fire jumped to another building and the inferno grew incrementally larger with each passing moment. Within an hour, the sun had set and the entire city of Calais was ablaze.

Chauvelin stood in the center of the city, completely untouched by the surrounding flames and seemingly unaffected by the heat. He shrugged off his coat, vest and shirt. His tanned, muscular body glistened with sweat, which made the flames around him gleam off his skin, giving him an ethereal glow. He looked up into the sky and his pale, yellow eyes reflected the blood red moon that hung low and menacing in the heavens.

"Come to me, Pimpernel." the agent smoothly whispered to the burning sky. Chauvelin's maniacal laughter rang throughout the night as the city of Calais continued to burn.


	10. I'll Forget You

**Well, everyone, this is it. This is the final chapter of this little romp through the flowers. Sure, I threw in an epilogue, but that doesn't really count.I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. By all means, let me know how you liked the story as a whole. So, please review and tell me what you think and enjoy the end!**

**Disclaimer: Scarlet Pimpernel. Not mine. Get reading.**

**Falcon in the Dive**

**Chapter10: I'll Forget You**

No apologies were spoken, nor were any explanations given to the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel of why the traitorous Marguerite St. Just was once again in the arms of the Pimpernel himself. Yet all that mattered to Percy's loyal friends was that their leader was happy, and never in their lives had they seen him happier. He and his wife were acting as they did before they were married and the passionate love they exhibited for each other put the League at ease. There was no reason to doubt Percy; if he could trust Marguerite, the rest of the men found it best to trust in his judgment of the woman.

An hour after nightfall, the carriage began to draw near the city of Calais and the joyous and celebratory occupants of the carriage as a faint smell of smoke filled the air.

Percy's full attention focused on the smoke; something must have been going on. Without a word to the League, he slid out of the window and pulled himself on top of the carriage so he could get a look at the surrounding area. His sharp, blue eyes instantly fell upon a distant yellow light in their line of direction. He looked directly overhead and saw the deep blue of the night sky, but as the carriage moved forward, the stars disappeared as jet black covered the heavens and the smell of smoke thickened.

Quickly looking straight ahead, he nearly fell backwards as flames were now clearly visible. Though they were at least five miles away, it was clear as day that Calais was burning. Percy quickly jumped into the driver's position and grabbed the reins form the driver and urged the horses to full speed toward the city.

As the speed of the carriage increased drastically, the League became worried as the smoke became heavier. Armand carefully climbed out of the window to join Percy. All his questions died in his throat as he looked ahead and gazed at the inferno no more then two miles away. "My God. Percy, what do we do?"

"I don't know." Percy whispered absently. "Look for survivors, find a clear path to the dock, and pray that the Daydream hasn't burned down too. There isn't anything else we can do."

Percy stopped the carriage about a quarter of a mile outside the burning city. Even before the horses had stopped, the door had flung open and Tony and Andrew jumped out of the carriage with Marguerite in tow. Lightning flashed across the sky and the sound of thunder filled the air as it began to rain slightly. "Look, men!" Percy shouted in good spirits. "The weather has decided to side with us."

"What do you want us to do, Percy?" Andrew asked as he, Tony, and the St. Just's ran up to meet their leader.

"Andrew, I want you to stay with Marguerite. Try and find a way to the harbor. If it's not on fire, I want the two of you to get on the Daydream. But be careful! If my wife is so much as scratched, I'll flail you within an inch of your life. Tony, Armand, you two come with me. We're looking for people."

Marguerite flung herself into Percy's arms. "Be safe, my love" she softly whispered.

Percy smiled down at the woman and kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I'm the Pimpernel, remember? And with you to come back to, how could I not be safe?" He reluctantly released her and ran to the carriage and removed four swords. "Alright, men." he said determinately as he gave each man a weapon and attached a sword to his own belt. "Be careful. God speed."

The group split up, Andrew and Marguerite going around the flames and heading to the coast and the Pimpernel and the other two men rushing headlong into the fire.

* * *

As if protected by some unholy power, Chauvelin stood on the roof of one of the burning buildings, but the flames never touched him. He had seen Blakeney run into the city, and an evil smile slid across his face. 

"Everything is going as planned, I assume." the young Chauvelin whispered by the agent's ear.

"It is. The Pimpernel has just entered the city."

"Perfect. Let him come to you."

"And what of his men?"

The young boy shrugged. "Do what you must, but don't let them distract you. Sir Percy is your first priority."

Chauvelin's sharp eyes caught Percy and his men running through the streets directly below him, stopping at every body they came across. He drew his sword, the black steel reflecting the flames, and silently jumped off the roof and landed mere feet behind the oblivious Pimpernel.

* * *

Andrew and Marguerite ran all the way to the coast at the outer edge of the city only to find no safe way to the harbor. The fire was burning all the way to the sea. However, they were able to confirm that the Daydream was untouched by the flames. "Well, at least the ship is alright." Andrew panted as he tried to catch his breath. 

Marguerite looked sadly at the city, praying that her husband was alright, but she was nearly instantly struck with terror. A large, red moon hung over the burning city, and standing on a flaming roof silhouetted against the blood colored light was the unmistakable figure of Agent Chauvelin. "Andrew!" she cried as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a place where he could see the man. "Look." she whispered as she directed Andrew's eyes to the agent.

As he laid his eyes on the man, Chauvelin drew his sword and disappeared from sight. "Oh God." Andrew whispered in horror.

"Percy!" Marguerite cried as she took off running toward the city.

"Marguerite, wait!" Andrew called after her as he caught up with her and grabbed her arm

Marguerite reeled on Andrew and glared viciously at him. "I will not stand here and do nothing when Percy may be killed in there. Let me go, Lord Ffoulkes."

Andrew was too stunned to speak, but he knew she was right and he let her go. As she ran off, he faithfully followed her into the city that, despite the now heavy rain, was still blazing.

* * *

"Damn it all!" Percy shouted as he examined yet another corpse. 

"It's no good, Percy." Armand said as he walked to his friend. "They're all dead."

"None of them were killed by the fire, Percy." Tony said quietly. "Come look at this."

Percy looked curiously at his friend and walked over to observe his friend's discovery. As soon as he looked at what Tony was pointing at, he reeled back in disgust as he gazed at what at one point could have been a man. "Dear Lord! How could…this is awful…" the Pimpernel stuttered in disbelief.

"This is the worst of it, but they all bear similar wounds." Tony said urgently. "I doubt that there is anyone alive. Come on. Let's get out of here."

Percy reluctantly nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

At that moment, Percy thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye and felt movement behind him. Instinctively drawing his sword, he quickly spun around and there was an ear-piercing ringing of steel clashing with steel as Percy's blade intercepted Chauvelin's mere inches from his head. The Pimpernel had no time to be surprised, for the second the agent's sword hit his, Chauvelin's blade was moving through the air to strike again.

The ferocity of the man's attack forced Percy right up next to one of the burning buildings, and it was only then that Armand and Tony were able to gather their wits about them and rush in to defend their leader.

Seeing the two men running toward him, Chauvelin jumped back slightly from his close quarters with the Pimpernel and swiftly buried his heel into Percy's chest, which sent the man through the burning wall and he landed dazed within the flaming room.

With the Pimpernel temporarily dealt with, Chauvelin turned his attentions on Tony and Armand. Quickly arching the wicked blade through the air, the tip of the sword buried into Tony's collarbone and slashed through his chest. With a gasp of pain, Tony went sprawling backward and was instantly knocked unconscious as his head struck the ground. Without missing a beat, Chauvelin slipped behind Armand and drove the pommel of his sword into the base of young St. Just's head. As Armand dropped to his knees and fell face down in the street, Chauvelin slowly walked through the hole that the Pimpernel had created in the building's wall.

Percy lay on the ground completely incapacitated for a few moments. Flames leaped around him, and as the heat increased, he came to his senses and grabbed his sword and pushed himself off the ground. As he stood, he gripped his abdomen in pain. As he removed his hand, his eyes widened in fear as he saw that his hand was covered in blood. The impact from hitting the floor must have reopened the bullet wound.

The idea of fighting this man was not a pleasant one; he had already proven himself to be a stronger man then the Pimpernel. But the thought of fighting Chauvelin while injured was terrifying. Percy shivered slightly as he realized that he couldn't win; he may as well be dead now, for in a few moments he would be.

Malicious laughter filled the room and Percy shivered despite the heat. "Hurt, Pimpernel?" Chauvelin asked quietly as he walked into the room, completely soaked form the rain.

"Not so much that I can't deal with you." Percy curtly responded much more confidently then he felt.

"Good." the agent said as he smiled viciously and lunged at the Pimpernel.

This time, however, Percy was prepared for the attack and managed to block and parry every blow.

Chauvelin smiled cockily as his sword locked with Percy's. "Having fun, Blakeney?" he whispered inches from the man's face.

Percy was too winded to respond. Fighting with this man was terribly tiring, and it wasn't helping that his strength was leaving his body with his blood. He needed a plan very quickly. Trying to outrun or outfight the man was out of the question; the agent was clearly a powerhouse and possessed an extreme physical advantage. Either way, he was quite literally forced into a corner and had no choice but to try and get out of there; whether it was the extreme heat or the loss of blood that was making him light-headed, he didn't know, but he had to get out.

He quickly made an attempt to slip under Chauvelin's arm, but within seconds found the agent's other arm against his throat and he was viciously slammed against the blackened wall.

Chauvelin couldn't help laughing at the pitiful man before him. Did the fool really think he could get away? He drove his knee into the man's abdomen, deliberating aiming for the bloodstain on the Pimpernel's shirt and shivered in perverse delight as anguished screams pierced the air. He removed his arm from Percy's throat and allowed the man to double over in pain before he grabbed his shirt and threw the man through the opposite wall.

* * *

Marguerite and Andrew were running through the town desperately looking for Percy, Armand and Tony, but to no avail. The thunder and lightning had greatly increased in frequency and the rain was coming down in torrents, which began to put out the flames. 

Suddenly, not thirty meters from where they stood, a limp figure fell through one of the building walls and landed lifelessly on the ground. Andrew and Marguerite were frozen to the spot; there was no mistaking that the man was Percy, and both were afraid to move for fear of discovering that the Pimpernel was devoid of life.

Their hopes lifted as Percy stirred slightly, but they filled with terror once again as an all too familiar dark figure walked out of the building and kicked the Pimpernel on to his back. Percy tried to push himself back up, but Chauvelin put his heel on his chest and savagely forced him back to the ground. The agent pressed the tip of the blade against Percy's throat and, raising the sword over his head, prepared to deal the final blow.

Andrew felt Marguerite tense and, despite the rain, he could clearly see the tears falling from her eyes. She was too stunned to move, and as she aguishly whispered her husband's name, something within Andrew snapped. This couldn't be happening. Not now, when they had so nearly escaped. Not now, when Percy and Marguerite had finally been reunited. Forgetting that he had a sword and throwing all caution away, Andrew dashed forward and just as the blade plummeted downward, he tackled Chauvelin and the two of them landed several feet away from the Pimpernel, the sword falling helplessly from the agent's hand.

Chauvelin was shocked beyond action as he slid across the ground, the sharp stones cutting into the bare flesh of his chest and back. He quickly recovered from his daze and became dangerously angry. Swiftly jumping to his feet, he turned his wrath upon the young Englishman that had temporarily stolen his moment of glory, and quickly retrieved his fallen weapon before advancing on the man.

Andrew didn't recover from the fall nearly as quickly as the agent did, and by the time he had gathered his wits, the enraged man was quickly striding toward him. Andrew scrambled to get to his feet, but Chauvelin stomped on his back, knocking the breath out of his lungs as he fell back to the ground.

Chauvelin reached down and entwined his fingers in Andrew's hair and viciously pulled him to his knees and savagely drove his knee into the man's back.

Andrew gasped in pain, for he had not the strength to scream and tears sprang to his eyes. He was going to die. He clenched his eyes shut and muttered a prayer as he felt the cold, sharp blade rest on his throat. "Please, God," he mumbled under his breath, "protect Percy and Marguerite. And let my poor Suzanne not grieve for me."

When Percy came to, he was being cradled by Marguerite and he looked up just in time to see Andrew beaten senseless. Percy gently pushed Marguerite away as he staggered to his feet and picked up his sword. "Marguerite, go. Hide." Percy whispered. It looked as if the woman would protest, so he quickly growled "Now!" and she quickly nodded and ran off and ducked into one of the houses that had stopped burning.

Percy stood up to his full height and shouted as loudly as he could "Chauvelin! Leave him alone! I'm the one you want!"

Chauvelin glared over his shoulder at the tall, proud Pimpernel and his grip on Andrew loosened. The man he held now was nothing to him; the only one he wanted was Percy Blakeney. However, he couldn't have this man interfering again. He brought his foot down with all his strength on Andrew's upturned heel and a distinct snapping could be heard before the young lord's screams filled the air. Removing the blade from the man's throat, Chauvelin threw Andrew to the ground and took off at a full sprint toward the Pimpernel.

Against his better judgment, Percy turned and ran at full speed away from the agent.

As both men raced through the streets, they passed the place where Marguerite had hidden. Unable to contain herself, she left her place and followed the two men she loved through the blackened remains of Calais.

Despite how weak he felt, Percy was doing an awfully good job holding the agent off and was even pulling away from him a bit. Just as he thought he might outrun Chauvelin, the Pimpernel skidded to a stop as he found himself face to face with a wall of flame that still burned strong despite the rain.

He quickly looked around for someplace else he could run, but the raging fire surrounded the courtyard in which he stood. He felt his heart sink in his chest as the agent slowly advanced upon him, and he realized that the dangerous game that he had been playing had come to an untimely end.

"Did you really think you could get away, Blakeney?" Chauvelin asked coldly. "And now I have you. Ready to die?"

Percy swallowed his fear and tried to catch his breath; he knew he was about to be killed and there was very little he could do about it. He was tired and injured; he didn't stand a chance against the agent, who didn't even appear to be breathing hard. He stood up tall and raised his weapon to eye level. "May we fight this as men of honor, Citizen Chauvelin?"

The agent smiled evilly as he too saluted his adversary. "But of course. En guard, Lord Blakeney."

Both men extended their weapons and lunged at each other and their swords clashed and locked. Chauvelin quickly jumped back and swung at Percy's stomach, but he parried the attack just before the agent's sword came in contact with his body.

Percy saw an opening and went on the offensive, swiftly stabbing at Chauvelin's shoulder; he didn't want to kill the man, just incapacitate him ling enough to get his men and wife aboard the Daydream.

Chauvelin easily blocked Percy's thrust, but the Pimpernel now had the agent on the defensive, so he continued with his assault, quickly stabbing and slashing at the man.

Chauvelin parried every movement Percy made with ease. His eyes slid out of focus for just a moment as he heard the boy's voice whisper in his ear "What are you doing? Get serious and stop playing with the man!" Chauvelin smiled viciously at Percy as their swords crossed, and the agent forced the Pimpernel's sword to the ground and slashed across his forearms.

Percy nearly screamed in pain, but stopped himself quickly as Chauvelin swiftly recoiled and arched his sword at his neck. He barely blocked the attack, and no sooner had the swords clashed, Chauvelin's weapon was cutting through he air to strike at the Pimpernel again.

Percy staggered back as the agent attacked him relentlessly, hardly able to move fast enough to parry the stabs and slashes. He couldn't understand what had happened; only moments ago he had been doing fairly well, then all of a sudden, Chauvelin's speed and strength increased tenfold. Percy felt himself grow quickly weary and was struck with the realization that he would be unable to continue fighting for much longer.

Marguerite watched the men fighting from behind one of the burnt buildings. Though at the beginning they had appeared to be evenly matched, the tide quickly turned in Chauvelin's favor. She gasped in fear for her husband's safety, but refrained from rushing in to aid him. There was no doubt that her presence would merely be a distraction that would get her husband killed. Marguerite closed her eyes and wept, praying silently that neither man would die.

Chauvelin savagely struck at the Pimpernel's head and Percy listlessly blocked, the force of the blow sending him sprawling to the ground. All of his energy had been drained and he tried desperately to keep up with the agent, but to no avail. He used his sword to help him to his feet and watched helplessly as Chauvelin rushed him with his sword raised and poised to deal the killing blow to the Pimpernel.

With the last of his strength, Percy moved his sword in what he believed would parry the blow, but when no steel struck his weapon, he knew that he had missed. Chauvelin stood inches from him and he closed his eyes tightly and waited for the final strike.

Percy stood there motionless for half a minute waiting for the end, but the strike never came. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the agent in anticipation. Percy didn't exactly understand what was happening; Chauvelin's golden eyes were fixed visionless on the ground and he had dropped his weapon. He curiously looked over the agent and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the long shaft of his own weapon behind Chauvelin covered in blood.

Shock froze the Pimpernel where he stood as he looked at his blade buried to the hilt within the agent right beneath the breastbone. It wasn't until he felt the warm, thick liquid running over his hand that he managed to jump back in horror, swiftly drawing his blade out of the man's body.

Chauvelin had no idea what had happened; Blakeney's blade came out of nowhere. A sudden pressure filled his chest and he couldn't breathe. The pressure relieved as Percy jumped back and he felt all the strength instantly sapped from his body. He staggered as he tried to keep himself from falling, but dropped to his knees and was forced to lay his hands on the ground to keep from falling further.

His head shot up as he heard the young Chauvelin frantically yelling at him, but within a moment he could no longer hear the boy. He knew the child was speaking, but he could hear none of it. He watched the boy run near him and saw his eyes fill with terror as he slowly began to disintegrate. Within moments, the child was completely gone.

Chauvelin suddenly came to his senses and had no idea where he was or what was happening. He inclined his head and saw a steady stream of blood quickly falling from his chest into a very large pool of the substance on the ground beneath him. His lungs suddenly felt smaller and as his vision slid out of focus and he became light-headed, he fell to his side and lay still.

Marguerite felt as though her heart had been pierced as she watched her husband's blade sink into her lover's body. No longer able to contain herself, she dashed forward to the men but stopped suddenly as she stepped in blood that ran several feet from Chauvelin's body.

Percy stared at his wife heartbrokenly. "Marguerite, I'm sorry! I…I didn't mean to…it just…" Percy stopped suddenly as Marguerite began to weep in anguish and sank to her knees beside the fallen agent.

Marguerite reached out and gently stroked his face, trying to avoid gazing at the two rapidly bleeding wounds. Chauvelin whimpered quietly and his chest rose irregularly as he gasped for breath. Seeing that the man was still living, Marguerite stopped weeping and pulled him into her lap and gently wrapped her arm around his chest and held his head to her breasts, not noticing that her dress was very quickly soaked through with blood.

Percy quickly removed his tattered jacket and tore it into strips and handed them to Marguerite. She looked up thankfully at her husband and gently began to wrap the agent's wound.

Chauvelin's eyes slowly slid open and he found himself lying across Marguerite's lap, his head resting on her chest. Noticing that she was making an attempt to wrap his chest, he softly grabbed her hand and whispered, "Don't bother."

"Chauvelin, we can save you!" she cried as tears sprang to her eyes once again.

Chauvelin began to chuckle softly, but quickly dissolved into coughing which caused the blood to run out of his body much faster.

Marguerite watched in helpless despair as the color and heat left Chauvelin's body as quickly as his blood. She drew him closer to her and held the agent tightly. "Don't die, my love."

Chauvelin looked up into Marguerite's eyes. "Love?" He laughed shortly and whispered, "You don't love me." He leaned his head against her breasts and allowed himself to relax. "You never did."

Marguerite couldn't believe what she was hearing. He thought she never loved him. Oh, how wrong he was! She opened her mouth to speak, but tears choked her words.

"But I loved you." He said barely audibly as he gasped for the breath that was quickly leaving him. "Oh God, I loved you." He looked up at her with those pale yellow eyes that were now much paler as death settled upon him. "But you couldn't tell, could you? I've been awful to you. Blackmail, extortion, Marguerite, I've done nothing but use you." He suddenly tensed and buried his head against her chest. "I'm sorry."

The agent turned his half closed eyes on Percy, who still held the blood-covered sword. He grimaced slightly and whispered, "Damn you, Pimpernel." He coughed quietly before gently saying, "Take care of her, would you? Heaven knows you can do it better then I ever could."

Marguerite tensed as she felt Chauvelin's faint, weak heartbeat cease entirely and she let the tormented tears fall as she tightened her grip around the man in her arms.

Chauvelin whimpered slightly as he struggled for breath, and with the remainder of his strength, lifted his hand and gently brushed the woman's cheek. "I love you, Marguerite." he whispered under his breath as he lifted his head slightly and tenderly pressed his lips to hers.

Marguerite closed her eyes and softly returned her lover's kiss, but the moment was short lived, as after only a few seconds, Chauvelin's head dropped lifelessly to her chest and his hand fell back to the ground.

Tears welled up in her eyes again and she gently shook the agent. "Chauvelin?" She was met with no response and she wept harder then she ever had before, desperately crying "Chauvelin, my love, wake up! Wake up!" The man didn't move and she gripped him tighter and buried her head in his hair and wept uncontrollably.

Percy dropped his weapon and clenched his fists as tears fell from his eyes. He slowly approached his wife and knelt behind her, gently wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Marguerite." he gently said as he nuzzled her neck.

Marguerite looked lovingly at Percy and gazed down at the beautiful man in her arms and leaned her forehead against his. "Your child." she gently whispered. "I'm going to have your child, Chauvelin."

They didn't know how long they stayed like that, but Percy and Marguerite quickly looked up as two French soldiers rode up and dismounted, and Marguerite instantly recognized them to be Mercier and Coupeau. The two soldier's eyes darted around the burnt city frantically and looked in terror at the lake of blood on the ground. "What happened here?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"We arrived here and the entire city was burning." Percy said sadly. "My men and I went to look for survivors and we were attacked by Citizen Chauvelin. And I…" Percy choked on his words and could not bring himself to continue.

"You're the Pimpernel, correct, monsieur?" Mercier asked quietly. Percy slowly nodded and Mercier whispered, "Where are your men, Pimpernel?"

"Somewhere around the city. I do not even know if they are alive."

Coupeau knelt beside Chauvelin and laid his hand on the agent's chest but quickly drew his hand away as he felt that his leader was cold as ice. "My friend." Coupeau gently whispered as tears slowly came to his eyes.

Mercier looked at his fellow soldier and bowed his head as Coupeau began weeping over their leader's body. "Come, Pimpernel. Let us look for your men." he said quietly.

Percy looked at the man in astonishment. He was sure he would be struck down right there, or if not that, at the very least arrested. But here was one of the revolutionary soldiers, and enemy, offering to help him. He nodded slightly and stood up and slowly walked to the man's side.

"Coupeau," Mercier gently whispered, "take care of mademoiselle St. Just and Chauvelin, would you?"

Coupeau nodded slightly, but did not look away from his friend and leader.

Without another word, Percy and Mercier walked away to search for the three members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

* * *

Percy and Mercier returned within an hour with Tony, Armand and Andrew. Both Tony and Armand walked beside Percy, for neither man had been severely injured. The cut that Tony suffered was a glancing blow and Armand had merely been knocked unconscious. 

Andrew, on the other hand, was being carried by Mercier, for he could not walk on his own. His entire foot had been crushed, and Percy had retired the young lord from the League as soon as he had seen him. It was painfully clear that Andrew would probably never walk again.

When they returned, Chauvelin lay on his back, perfectly straight with his hands laid neatly over one another on his stomach, and Coupeau and Marguerite had taken the time to clean the blood off of the departed agent.

Coupeau sat against one of the blackened houses gently holding Marguerite, the two of them softly crying. Percy slowly approached his wife and held his hand out to her. "Come, Marguerite." he whispered sadly. "Let's go home."

Marguerite took her husband's hand and as she rose to her feet, she cast a longing glance at Chauvelin's still form. "Percy, may I…"

Though she choked on her words, Percy understood and let her go.

Marguerite slowly walked to Chauvelin's side and knelt beside him, gently stroking his face. A few tears fell upon his face as she whispered "Goodbye, my love." and softly kissed him. Marguerite reluctantly pulled away from him as Percy laid his hand on her shoulder. As she and Percy walked away, she cast one last glance at Chauvelin before he faded out of view. She leaned her head on Percy's shoulder and renewed her weeping, for that was the last time she would ever see Chauvelin again.

With Mercier's assistance, Percy managed to get everyone settled on the Daydream, and they were ready to set sail for England within ten minutes. Marguerite and Percy stood on the dock and said their thank you's and goodbye's to Mercier. "Citizen," Marguerite asked quietly, "where will you bury him?"

Mercier sadly shook his head. "I don't know, mademoiselle. The Committee will probably want to give him a state funeral. I'll send you word when we know for sure."

She nodded slightly and uttered quiet thanks before turning to walk back on the Daydream.

"Mademoiselle St. Just! Wait!" Coupeau shouted as he ran on to the dock.

Marguerite faced the man and he gingerly handed her Chauvelin's jet-black sword nearly wrapped in his tricolor sash. "He…I think that he would have wanted you to have these." Coupeau said quietly. "You are one of the only things he ever talked about. He loved you so much."

Marguerite held the weapon close and laid her head on the sash and quietly wept. "Thank you, Coupeau." she whispered quietly.

"Let's go home, Margot." Percy said gently as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Pimpernel," Mercier said sternly, "you will have the good graces not to return to France for at least two weeks. Give us some time to grieve for the loss of this great man."

Percy nodded and said, "You have my word, Citizen."

"Thank you." he said quietly as he and Coupeau left the pimpernel and his wife and returned to tend to their esteemed leader.

Percy and Marguerite watched the two men leave and when they were out of sight, they walked aboard the Daydream and, at long last, sailed home to England.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The entire country of France was in mourning over the death of Agent Chauvelin. He was given a state funeral and was bestowed with every honor the French government had to offer. A small monument was butyl for the fallen hero on the place he was laid to rest.

One week after he was killed, Louis XVI was tried and sentenced to death and soon after the Reign of Terror began. The people saw this decline in the government as a direct result of the agent's death and began to worship and pray to the man for help. Because he was murdered by the Scarlet Pimpernel, France's greatest enemy, he was seen as the last true revolutionary, and when he died, the ideals of the Republic died with him.

When Napoleon came to power, he declared Chauvelin a martyr, which was met with the fervent approval of the people. The city of Calais was rebuilt and where Chauvelin fell, a shrine was built to honor the legendary hero and martyr. The grounds where his blood was spilt and where he was laid to rest were declared holy ground by the church of France.

Shortly after he died, Mercier and Coupeau discovered his will, in which he left everything he owned to any children he had. This included an enormous fortune equal to about half the total wealth of France.

As soon as Andrew returned to England, he married young Suzanne De Tournay and had two children, a boy and a girl. Out of fierce anger of being physically unable to further aid the League, Andrew trained himself to walk on his crippled foot, and Percy allowed him to work with the League once again.

Tony took every opportunity presented to him at any form of social gathering to show off the impressive scar on his chest, which attracted the sympathy and admiration of every lady in the English court. He married a French woman and had three children, a boy and twin girls.

Armand St. Just married Marguerite's long time friend, Louise, and had one son. Though both he and his wife loved France dearly, Armand's loyalty lay with his sister and his leader, and both agreed that it would be safer to raise their son in England. Courtesy of Percy, they moved into a small countryside villa not ten miles from Blakeney manor.

Marguerite went through her pregnancy without any complications and gave birth to Chauvelin's child, a healthy golden-haired boy. He looked enough like his mother to be easily passed off as Percy's child, despite the fact that he possessed his father's pale, yellow eyes. A year later, she bore Percy's son andsoonafter they were blessed with a girl.

Percy kept up the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel until the fall of the Committee, when he stayed home as a fulltime husband and father. Life at Blakeney manor was peaceful during their children's' childhood, but Chauvelin's son was too much like his father for the serenity to last. It didn't take long for the boy to discover the truth about his father, and he left home to seek revenge on his father's murderer, but that's another story entirely.


End file.
